Diplomacy In Action
by RonHeartbreaker
Summary: Kim has joined the U.S. diplomatic corps.  An ongoing tale of her swashbuckling career, with plenty of vengeful supervillains, exotic locales, and mealymouthed bureaucrats.  And a lot of talking.  Please review!
1. Credentialing

With this post-Graduation work (which I began early in S4 but have tried to reverse-engineer to keep current with developments) I'm aiming for an epic-length tale of the early years of Kim's career as an American diplomat, with lots of K/R fluff, action/adventure in a variety of exotic locales, and hopefully just enough angst to keep it real.

Thanks to Ultimate Naco Topping for the beta-reading services. Go read his "Season 4: Through the Cracks." Right now! Go!

Kim Possible is copyright Disney; I derive no profit from this work.

**Diplomacy in Action**

**Chapter 1**

**Credentialing**

"Toi xin loi nhung anh khong lay duoc mot thi thuc de den tham My lan nay. Toi rat la xin loi! Xin chao," Kim said into the microphone, then sighed as she stripped off the headset.

_I'm so not ready to take your order_, she thought for the thousandth time, the stale joke failing to provoke even a small internal smile.

She turned away from the ballistic glass of the interview window to enter the results into the computer perched on the ledge beside it, while the other consular officers at the windows on either side of her continued their conversations with their interviewees.

There was nothing surprising about the fact that the applicant didn't qualify for a visa. Of the several dozen people she saw every day, few did. Out of forty-five interviews so far on this particular Tuesday, she'd given 35 "no"s. The rejections alone amounted to 3500 dollars in application fees, a fortune for most Vietnamese.

_The going rate for futility_, she thought_._ She was not without sympathy, however, for the failed applicants who had spent a month's salary on this grasp at the brass ring.

Her fingers moved lightly over the keyboard and she glanced at the clock in the lower right hand corner of the screen. 10:47am. She was making pretty good time, but the pre-summer visa rush meant that there were still a couple of hours worth of applicants to see before she could call it quits. Clearly she'd be grabbing yet another late lunch today.

Time for a brief break, nonetheless.

She pushed back her auburn hair and rubbed her eyes gently with the heels of her hands.

She moved to step down off the swivel chair when she realized that the applicant was still there at the window, looking at her with a mixture of anticipation, dread, and bewilderment.

Kim let out another sigh. Clearly her spotty command of Vietnamese (for heaven's sake, how could they expect her to learn a tonal language in six months?) had served only to confuse this poor aspiring tourist.

She slipped a bilingual rejection form off of the stack to her side, checked a couple of boxes, and pushed it through the slot under the window.

"Xin doc giay to nay," she shouted through the slot, tapping on the paper. Though really it wouldn't matter whether he read it or not. She had checked the standard language: insufficient ties to his country to establish clearly that he would return after a visit. _No family ties, no stable job, no resources to speak of… no way he's coming back._ Both she and the applicant knew that his visa application was just a gamble. He had spent 130 dollars on a lottery ticket, in the form of an interview for a tourist visa to the U.S., and had come up short. If he had won, his life would have been changed forever. And, precisely because – for him – it was a lottery, the standard legalese was irrelevant. He'd be back as soon as he and his family felt it prudent to try again, "sufficient ties" or no.

_I just hope I'm off the visa window by then,_ Kim thought moodily.

Then she turned away from the window for good, saying to the leader of her team of local staff, "Minh Lan oi – I'm going to get a drink. Be back in five."

Minh Lan nodded and smiled. "Da vang. But Chi Kim oi! Please tell Anh Ron that we finished up the last of the sweets he brought and we are all very hungry again!"

Despite herself Kim smiled. The smile broadened quickly as she _realized_ she was smiling, as she realized how happy it made her to have Ron in Ho Chi Minh City with her, and to see that his… unique charms were appreciated here too.

Lord knows she appreciated them. Ron's easy-going attitude had been a real life-saver these last few months. Spending her days rejecting dozens of unqualified visa applicants was not exactly how she had envisioned the U.S. diplomatic corps. Negotiating important international agreements? Maybe. Saving visiting dignitaries from certain death at the hands of a crazed villain? Why not – she'd confronted worse sitches on many an occasion. Exotic food, ancient artifacts, beautiful beaches? You bet!

But... crushing the souls of average Vietnamese who just wanted to improve their lives, albeit by violating U.S. immigration law? Not precisely what she'd been aiming for when she decided to take the Foreign Service exam and join up.

She consoled herself by searching for perspective on the situation. _Everyone _worked on the visa line at the outset; it's just "how it was" in the Foreign Service. She fell into a familiar mantra: it was early yet – in the day, in her career, in her life with Ron – and this newest adventure was still only starting to unfold.

The spring returned to her step as she strode to the water cooler, pulling her cell phone from her pocket to check in on Ron and see if maybe he could get away from his work in the cafeteria long enough to meet her for lunch later. Planning for next weekend's trip to Angkor Wat in Cambodia would be just the thing to lighten her mood.

She was Kim Possible, and she could do anything. Even put in her time on the visa line as a first step in making some real contributions as a diplomat. And who knew - perhaps there would even be some intrigue.

_So not the drama, _she thought about her morning's efforts, as she punched in Ron's digits.


	2. Counseling the Vice Consul

Thanks to MrDrP, Meca Vegeta, and CajunBear73 for having a look and encouraging me to carry on. Apologies in advance if Chs. 1&2 sound a bit like "My Dinner with Kim"; things _will_ pick up soon.

* * *

**Chapter II**

**Counseling the Vice Consul**

I.

Ron sat at the low wooden table, breathing in the sumptuous blend of odors from the food stalls around the edges of the courtyard.

As would anyone waiting in a restaurant for a companion, he instinctively wanted to glance at his watch, if for no other reason than to project that he had a purpose both for being there and for waiting. _Sitting alone in a restaurant? No, not a loser! I'm meeting someone!_

Yet, with some effort, he _didn't_ turn to his watch. Kim was not yet late, and he knew she wouldn't be. 1:00 was the appointed meeting time, and sure, it might be 12:59, but her essential Kimness meant that she would work right up to the last possible instant, then dash over (having planned her route and means in advance), turning up precisely on time. An early arrival would be an admission that things-that-could-have-been-done-today had been put off until tomorrow; a late arrival would be an unacceptable sign of both disorganization and indifference to the feelings and schedule of her lunch date. No, for Kim Possible there was no alternative to punctuality.

He felt pretty confident in his understanding of her personality. He was Ron Stoppable: friend for life, boyfriend for years, and now – sometimes he still pinched himself, or had Rufus pinch him, to make sure it wasn't just a dream – husband to Kim Possible. He knew her, he often felt, better than she knew herself. And he never thought of himself as anything other than incredibly lucky to be this close to someone as amazing as...

"Kim! Over here!" His musings were interrupted by the sight of flaming red hair emerging from under a motorcycle helmet by the entrance, and he called out to her.

She caught his eye and smiled.

He watched as she slipped off the back of the motorbike-taxi, passed the driver a 5000 dong note, and worked her way through the crowded restaurant to the table. Many eyes followed her as she gracefully threaded between steaming pots of green tea and trays piled high with shrimp spring rolls and grilled pork dumplings.

The observers' gazes continued to linger on the couple after she sat down; the combination of fair-skinned, green-eyed, red-haired beauty and blonde-haired goofball was always a bit of an attention-getter in a land of dark hair and dark eyes.

"So, Ron – what'll it be today?" she asked as she sat down across from him, setting her helmet next to her on the bench.

"I haven't decided yet, KP. Are you feeling adventurous?"

She smiled. Ron had come a long way from the days when sushi was not just exotic but a cause for disdain and occasionally gagging noises. "Not so much, Captain Courageous. I'm feeling like a little comfort food."

"But of course, m'lady. Two bowls of noodle soup coming right up." Ron beckoned to a waiter and, with much pointing to the menu and to the dishes arriving at the tables around him, made their lunch order understood. He had picked up a fair amount of Vietnamese, especially vocabulary related to food, but felt strongly that getting a good meal was far too important to leave to oral communication. _Any_ risk of misunderstanding, no matter how small, was unacceptable. _(Why, oh why no signboards with numbered meals on them?)_ Only gesticulating and nodding would do.

"So, KP – 'sup?" he asked after wrapping up his game of charades with the waiter.

"Oh, you know, nothing, really – just the usual angst," she said, flipping her hair back, then resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "I thought maybe if we could talk about our trip next weekend it would cheer me up."

"Another rough day with the visas? How many times do I have to tell you my solution, KP?" At this he did an over-the-top imitation of someone looking around conspiratorially. "Just issue 'em! Think of all the people you'll make happy. And I bet they won't keep you on the window much longer after that!"

Kim giggled at Ron's suggestion. "Oh, I'm sure. Good-bye visa line, hello unemployment line!"

"True, true. Luckily, you've got the Ron-man and the big bucks that he's pulling down as journeyman cook and food prep technician."

He scrutinized her face and could see that he'd need to put a little bit more substance behind his cheering-up efforts.

"Seriously, Kim, you knew it was going to be tough at the outset, that you'd have to put in your time, learn the ropes, work your way up, blah blah blah, before you could move on to the diplomatic big-time."

Kim furrowed her brows and thought back to the chain of decisions, large and small, that had brought her to this point. Taking the Foreign Service exam during college, almost as a lark. Passing the exam and, after giving it some deeper thought, realizing that she genuinely wanted to do this. Grappling with being so far from Middleton so often, but deciding it was worth a try. Getting Ron to buy in. And finally - after much discussion - agreeing to the special condition that the State Department's management imposed on her: no missions. Period. Lest she put her colleagues, and diplomatic relations with host countries, at risk.

Ron was continuing his attempt to buck her up. "Y'know, a big organization like the State Department – you knew you'd be starting out at the bottom. But we're having fun, here, and soon they'll appreciate you and you just know that you'll be climbing the ladder pretty quick."

He watched her face carefully as he took a slurp from his lemon soda.

Kim gazed at Ron, losing herself for a moment in his soft brown eyes and the combination of love and concern which she could see in them.

There had always been inklings that Ron, despite his easy-going persona and absolute refusal to engage most topics seriously, was perceptive when it came to interpersonal relations. Yet he could still surprise with his occasionally dead-on insights, and his ability to say just what she needed to hear. Not always, of course; he was still male, after all, routinely complicating things that should be simple and oversimplifying things that were really quite complex. But often enough.

"I know you're right – and I know we talked about all this when we decided that I'd join, and when they made me give up the freak-fighting. But, you know, it's just that when work is particularly stressful, or boring, I really... I miss the missions." She sighed. "I mean, even though the tweebs had been fielding most of the calls anyway, it was still _my _choice not do do more during college. And now...it was such a huge part of my life for so long...and now it's gone. Sometimes my cell phone will ring, or Wade will ring up to say hi, and my heart just automatically jumps. Then I remember its not a mission, just a call, and the next day I'll put on a suit instead of my mission clothes and go to an office instead of an evil villain's lair."

"Kim - you imply that U.S. embassies _aren't_ lairs." Ron grinned, recognizing the metaphorical gold mine he had just unearthed. "Have ya _looked_ around yourself recently? Fortified buildings, aspirations for world domination, and – best of all – an army of faceless minions slavishly obeying the boss' bidding!"

"So now I'm a henchman… henchperson?" Kim mock glared at Ron, then smiled. "I guess I'd better get fitted for my red jumpsuit and goggles." She paused, thinking, and a look of determination started to grow on her face.

_Suck it up, Possible._

"You're right, Ron. I'm taking one crummy morning way too seriously. Like you said. I knew that it'd be slow going at the beginning, and I just need to amp down while I find my way." She smiled. "Let's change the subject. How about our trip?"

"That's my Kim," Ron said, pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. As if on cue, two steaming bowls of noodle soup arrived. "Now, on to the main courses: food and travel. So I haven't thought much about where we're going to stay in Angkor, but I've got some serious ideas about where we'll eat…"

II.

Fair skin is prized in Vietnam. Thus the women of Saigon – young and old – often cover themselves entirely, even in the heat and humidity of mid-day. Baseball caps, elbow-length gloves, and a small face mask (to protect the skin and filter out the worst of the motorcycle, car, bus, and truck exhaust) are standard equipment.

For this reason, plus the intensity of their conversation, neither Kim nor Ron noticed, among the many slim women with long dark tresses and stylish clothes in the restaurant, one in particular – sun hat pulled down low over her eyes – whose green-tinted skin and slight but indisputably malicious grin would surely otherwise have caught their attention.


	3. Personae Non Gratae

Thanks to MrDrP, CajunBear73, Meca Vegeta, and the archduke for reading and reviewing. This being my maiden multi-chapter voyage on the potentially treacherous waters of KP fanfic, I welcome any and all feedback.

Particular thanks to beta-reader and guru Ultimate Naco Topping for the pearls of wisdom he has thrown before me.

As stated elsewhere, Disney, not I, owns Kim Possible. Alas and alack.

* * *

**Chapter III**

**Personae Non Gratae**

I.

"KIM POSSIBLE?!" Drakken's roar expressed the usual rage, confusion, and resentment.

"Yes, Doc, the Princess and the frog are in Saigon." Shego, as ever, affected being entirely absorbed in filing her nails as she delivered the news of her chance encounter.

Drakken put his hands to his cheeks and shook his head in frustration, before slumping over the railing that separated his elevated command platform and console from Shego's workstation and personal lounge. The cavern was still largely dark and desolate. Drakken had contracted with HenchCo for installation and tech support, but Hench of course had insisted on payment in advance, which had delayed things a bit.

"Honestly, Shego. What are the odds!" he griped, frowning.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's think about it, hmmm? Here's you"— one gloved hand making talky-talky motions in the air -- "plotting a harebrained scheme from your latest secret lair. Here's me" -- the other hand somehow managing to imbue talky-talky motions with a sardonic air -- "once again working for you, despite all my best instincts. What, do you suppose, _is_ the likelihood that Kim Possible will show up right on time? Maybe absolutely GUARANTEED!"

With that, for emphasis, she balled up the "Shego" hand and smacked it into the "Drakken" hand with a loud crack.

Shego was enjoying tweaking Drakken, but had to admit (strictly to herself, of course) that it had been quite a shock to see her nemesis and the straphanger on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. The healthy streak of paranoia that had kept her alive and – largely – out of jail for all these years whispered that they were looking for her, despite the low profile she'd been keeping lately. But after sneaking into the restaurant and eavesdropping on their lunchtime conversation, she realized the truth was simpler. And sweeter.

Of course, Drakken was ranting on without even noticing the smile dancing around the corners of Shego's mouth.

"Really, it's so unfair. Do you know how much it cost to relocate the lair here? The penalties from cashing out the 529 plan were a nightmare! I refuse to believe I'm going to lose it all again to that lippy child and her-"

"Whatawhatwhat now Doc?" Shego interjected, genuinely surprised. "Do you mean to tell me you had a college savings plan? What on earth for?"

"Come now, Shego," said Drakken, rolling his eyes. "You know how unpredictable supervillainy can be. Why, one might wind up having to educate a younger, cloned version of oneself, or an arch-enemy's child whom you've stolen and seduced into evil in a final ironic strike against them!"

Here Drakken paused, and the rapturous look on his face quickly shifted into a downcast expression, making it clear that these were two dreams he had had to let go of.

"Anyway," he continued, "you should think about it – you just can't buy the kind of peace of mind that comes with financial security…though, I guess you kind of can…I suppose that's rather the point…where was I again? Ah yes, ranting about Possible. Why, I-"

"Whoa, Doc, no need to get your hyper-electro-plasma-de-icing-irradiated shorts in a twist. There's more to the story." Shego smirked. "She can't go on missions!"

"…nnngg?" Confused black eyes gazed at her from under raised black eyebrows, a prominent blue jaw gaping.

"That's right, Doctor D! She works for the State Department and they've forbidden her from taking on missions. Oh, you would have _died _if you could hear their pathetic angstyness! "Oh, whatever will I do," Shego began in a high-pitched sing-song voice, "I feel so empty inside!" She switched to a false baritone. "Oh, don't worry honey, I'll take care of you – you don't need to fight evil when you've got your pathetic loser husband and your miserable bureaucratic wage-slave job! Now let's go home and I'll fill up that emptiness, heh heh, if you know what I mean…"

She paused to laugh deeply and wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes.

An evil grin flowered on Drakken's face. He turned back to his console, momentarily lost in thought.

"Oh, this is simply too good," he chortled. "Too rich! Poor little Kim Possible" – he practically spat the words – "has been forbidden from going on missions! Well, that gives me an idea…Shego! We have some calls to make!"

II.

Kim stared out the window of the Airbus as it prepared to set down at Siem Reap international airport.

Gazing over the dusty plain dotted with patches of trees, the murky waters of the Tonle Sap just visible to the south, she thought about all the exotic places she had visited on missions over the years – mystical monkey temples (including one right here in Cambodia), historic ruins, secret mountaintop lairs, inaccessible locations of natural beauty.

Rarely, if ever, had there been the opportunity to appreciate them. She had always been in mission mode, focused on the task at hand, whether it was Dementor, or Drakken, or DNAmy – _what is it with the D-names for villains, anyway?_ – whose plan they were foiling. Occasionally there would be a moment of post-mission quiet when she and Ron could briefly take in the view from Mount Kilimanjaro or steal a kiss in the Boboli Gardens. But then they would be off again – back to cheerleading practice, midterms, game night with Cousin Larry – and who knew if they would ever return?

Now things could be different. Now, she could take some time for herself and be a normal tourist.

She looked at Ron in the seat next to her, head back, snoring softly and drooling out of the corner of his mouth. And here was her very own never-be-normal tourist to share it with.

It was all she could do to keep from bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement as the plane came in on final approach.

III.

Kim and Ron stepped into the lobby of the Raffles Grand Hotel d'Angkor. Its colonial-era architecture, ceiling fans, cool marble, and rattan furniture immediately made the two of them feel like characters in a film set in 1930s Indochina.

They were dressed for the part, too – Kim in a simple A-line linen dress in a light shade of blue, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and Ron in a cream-colored linen suit and white cotton shirt.

They got their bearings, drawing a few appreciative glances from guests and staff in the lobby, before heading for the hotel's flagship Khmer restaurant, "Le Grand."

"You see, Kim?" Ron grinned and waved his arm to encompass the scene (missing by centimeters an enormous but delicate arrangement of orchids on an end table, causing three bellboys and an assistant manager to clutch their chests and then sigh deeply in relief).

"We stay down-scale and eat up-scale!" he continued. "Financially responsible _and_ badically tasty."

Kim had to recognize his logic. After all, she was making a junior civil servant's salary and Ron's wages from the Consulate cafeteria, while tax-free, were fixed to the local Vietnamese wage scale. She had been a touch anxious about staying in a two-star hotel in Cambodia – even if she still was the towel-off type – but had been pleasantly surprised by the friendly staff and the spotless and homey room, with its terra-cotta tiles and aesthetically placed vases, teapots, and flowers. And staying in a budget hotel meant that they could spend freely elsewhere, for example on an elegant dinner at the Raffles.

Following Ron's plan to the letter, after freshening up from the trip and changing clothes they had walked the short distance from their auberge to the landmark Grand Hotel. The dusty street crunched beneath their shoes, and the humid air was full of the sweet smells of tropical fruits, the buzz of insects, and the murmur of the many languages being spoken by the tourists and locals. The slow-moving Siem Reap river twisted along beside them as they walked beneath a canopy of leafy trees.

It all combined to create an intensely exotic and romantic atmosphere, reinforcing the good mood which had accompanied Kim off the airplane.

In the restaurant they were shown to an elegantly set table by the window, looking out over the hotel's great lawn. Both were quickly overwhelmed by the mouth-watering offerings on the menu – modern twists on traditional Cambodian dishes. Kim chatted effortlessly with the waiter in French – _ah, she thought, five years at the Sorbonne had to be good for something_ – and Ron, for once, ceded the ordering to her and her flawless French, though he did have some misgivings about the absence of a picture menu.

The restaurant was beginning to fill up as ruins-weary patrons in twos and fours wandered in, returned with powerful appetites from the day's sight-seeing. Kim and Ron chatted idly and gazed out across the lawn at the silhouette of the great temple of Angkor Wat that was just visible in the dusk. Shortly the waiter delivered their small bowls of sour soup and they reached for their spoons.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the table behind Ron and to his right, where four older tourists had been sitting. A grey-haired gentleman in a blue blazer, half out of his seat with his back to them, was clutching his throat and making straining sounds, his dinner companions gazing in horror, momentarily frozen over their shared plate of grilled fish wrapped in lettuce leaves.

Ron saw Kim's body tense. He felt the slight breeze and heard the light "thock" under the table as she kicked off her shoes. With instincts honed by years of experience, he ducked down and to the left as her chair flew backwards from the force of her sudden leap and she vaulted straight over the table, turning a somersault in-flight to land directly behind the choking victim.

Simultaneously, in one smooth move, Ron scooped up Kim's bread plate and slid it gently on top of her soup bowl, while grabbing her napkin out of mid-air as it floated down from the point where her lap had been a moment earlier.

Ron then turned just in time to see Kim put her arms around Blue-Blazer from behind and jerk once, expelling the fish roll from its temporary lodging in his windpipe.

Unfortunately Blue-Blazer's flailings had so startled his friends that one of them, in her rush to get to his assistance, lost her balance struggling to get out of her chair and toppled over backwards – directly into a waiter carrying a rack of pork skewers sizzling over a small bed of live coals. The skewers flew straight up in the air, and the coals flew every which way, including some into the long lace curtains that lined the windows.

Kim's eyes darted around the room and found her new target in an instant. She kicked off again and backflipped once, twice down the narrow space between tables until she reached a silver seltzer dispenser on the sideboard by the waiters' station.

Meanwhile Ron reached into his right suit pocket – which had been hanging somewhat heavily – and snatched out a small pink object which, with a flick of his wrist, he deftly tossed skyward.

Almost faster than the eye could follow, Kim was back by the windows, spraying a stream of club soda on the curtain hems, which were just beginning to smolder. The nascent fires went out with angry sputters and hisses.

And Rufus, awakening in a flash from his nap, and using all four limbs, tipped the half-dozen flying skewers this way and that such that five landed harmlessly in potted plants scattered around the restaurant. The sixth he used to break his fall before starting in on its succulent cargo, his share of the spoils.

Staff and patrons stood agape. Blue-Blazer rubbed his neck and his companions stared at him, at each other, and finally at Kim and Ron. Ron walked around to Kim's side of the table and pulled her chair out; she smoothed her dress and sat down delicately. He laid her napkin on her lap, uncovered her soup bowl, and turned back to his seat.

Suddenly he felt the familiar sensations of a button spontaneously coming undone at his waist and of gravity tugging at his trousers. Yet his lips turned up in a small smile.

Kim looked up at him and smiled, as ever both pleased with her saving-the-day intervention, and a little shy in the face of all the attention.

"A-booyah," Ron said under his breath, as he snapped his suspenders and sat down.

They started in on their dinner to a backdrop of thunderous applause.

IV.

The next morning they made ready for a day of sight-seeing among the ruins of the ancient temples of Angkor Wat.

"It's not just a choice of shoes, KP - its a way of life!" As usual, Ron's voice began climbing in register and volume as he found a topic he could really get worked up about.

"Come again?" Kim's eyes narrowed and her eyebrows rose as she looked skeptically at her BFHB. "My footwear defines me? Pretty shallow, but I guess I should expect that from The Ron!"

"That was a long time ago, Kim." Ron put his large hands in front of him, palms forward, and waved them in a gesture simultaneously apologetic and dismissive. "Just hear me out. You: type A. Controlling" (standard sheepish Ron grin at the low rumble building in his BFW's throat), "in love with structure and order. Adherent to an essentially rigid moral code, notwithstanding your occasional lapses..." He continued, ignoring her glare. "And what are you wearing on your feet? Hiking boots! Why?"

"Gee, hard to say, Sherlock. Maybe because we're going hiking?"

"No, KP, so you can walk without coming into contact with wild, uncontrolled nature, fearing for the loss of your orderly little universe. Now look at me. The yin to your yang. The devil-may-care Ron-man, ready for anything, come what may. Open to the world and new experiences" (here pointing to the sandals on his feet) "and with toes open to the air, to the sun, to all of God's creation! Oh yeah, open-toed. That's what it's all about." Building to a climax like an old-school preacher at a revival meeting, he threw his hands up in the air. "C'mon Kim - let the world in! Don't be afraid! Wear your sandals and let those toes breathe the fresh air of freedom!"

"Oh, I'll ventilate something all right," growled Kim in mock anger as she grabbed Ron around the waist, threw him onto the bed behind her, and leapt on top of him, tickling mercilessly.

Once upon a time such commentary on his part would have left her seriously tweaked. In high school her insecurities wouldn't allow her to accept criticism from anyone, let alone her best friend and support of last resort. Now, however, while she could still find his slightly out-of-kilter view of the world a minor irritant, she could appreciate it more as part of the essential Ron-ness without which he just wouldn't be himself.

Ron squirmed beneath her extended assault, gamely counter-attacking, until the tickling turned into caressing and the laughter into passionate kissing. Looking into each others' eyes they made the silent, simultaneous decision that touring could wait a few minutes longer. As Ron's hands began to work at the buttons of her blouse, Kim had to admit to herself that, indeed, opening up wasn't necessarily all bad…

V.

Siem Reap astounded them as they toured its many majestic temples and monuments. The Grand's management, in a gesture of appreciation for their actions at dinner, had provided them a guide and air-conditioned jeep, which considerably eased the distances between temples. They gazed with wonder on the silent faces of the Bayon, with their mysterious smiles and ancient dignity. They climbed to the top of the pyramidal Ta Keo and, over orange sodas bought from the hawkers, admired the view of lush forest and mysterious, silent ruins in every direction. They marveled at the enormous trees growing out of the cracked façade of Ta Prohm.

Finally they turned to the centerpiece: the temple complex of Angkor Wat. It loomed above them as the approached from the west, crossing the moat and proceeding into the shadow of its towers. Despite being quite tired from a full day of touring in the hot sun, they were swept away by Angkor's magnificence. The delicate carvings of dancing apsaras invited them to examine panel after panel of fine stonework and beautiful depictions of scenes from the Ramayana. They wandered past pilasters, through darkened hallways and crumbling atria, through courtyard after courtyard, and up and down staircases worn smooth and slippery from centuries of use. Sometimes they held hands and walked along slowly behind their guide, only half-heeding his detailed analysis of the religious significance of the carvings and architecture; at other times they separated and strolled at their individual paces through the galleries.

The sun sank lower in the sky as the remaining tourists in the complex proceeded to the central tower, from which the view at sunset was said to be a highlight of any visit. Before joining the crowd their guide took them to one last stop at the wall-length carving of the "Churning of the Sea of Milk." Demons were arrayed on one side, pulling on an end of the serpent Vasuki, as gods pulled from the other direction, in a joint effort to recover the elixir of life which had been lost in the cosmic sea. Ron snorted when their guide pointed out the monkey deity Hanuman anchoring for the gods in this celestial tug-of-war.

Their guide paused and peered into a corner of the gallery, squinting into the deepening shadows created by the setting sun. "Is someone there?" Suddenly he jumped back.

"Ahh. The cheerleader." A voice hissed from the shadows. "Just as anticipated."

Kim assumed a ready position as Lord Montgomery Fiske emerged from the darkness in the corner of the gallery. His calm demeanor and quiet footsteps – pawsteps? – belied the cold menace in his eyes, and in the eyes of the dozen monkey ninjas who were climbing down from various concealed niches to assemble around him. Ron, a few steps behind Kim, rolled his eyes (_of course:_ _Cambodia, Monkey God, Monkey Fist, blah blah blah; what'd I expect?)_ and moved forward.

"So delighted to see the happy couple. Do I address you now as Mr. and Mrs. Pretender? Or perhaps Pretender and Consort?"

"The only addressing you'll be doing is on your letters from prison," Kim snapped back.

Monkey Fist sneered. "Much as I never fail to enjoy our little exchanges of pleasantries, I see no reason to drag this out and trouble all these innocent – and, in many cases, noticeably frail – tourists with our little dispute. I suggest we simply resolve this quickly." He squinted and his voice grew harder. "Give me the onyx Hanuman of Angkor, which you have _stolen_, and I will be on my way. You two can then continue your oh-so-very-charming integration into the bourgeoisie."

"Resist, and things could get very…untidy." Monkey Fist signaled with the slightest movements of his head and the monkey ninjas began to spread out so as to surround Kim and Ron.


	4. Unfriendly Acts

Thanks to CajunBear73, MrDrP, Sir Sebastian, and Steph88NYC for their reviews and feedback; it is very rewarding that you like what I'm writing, and I really appreciate that you take the time to let me know.

I owe a continuing debt of gratitude to beta-reader Ultimate Naco Topping, who could teach Edna Mode a thing or two about style.

Disney yadda yadda yadda KP.

* * *

**Chapter IV**

**Unfriendly Acts**

I.

"Do _you_ have any idea what he's talking about, Ron?" Kim muttered from the corner of her mouth. "'Cuz I don't."

"Not a clue, KP," Ron answered, with a frown. "I definitely don't have his Onyx Handyman."

Kim smiled, despite herself. Ron could lighten the tension of any sitch. It didn't matter if he really misheard Monkey Fist or he was just joking around – he distracted the bad guys from her; and he distracted her from her darker thoughts; and he loved her; and that was enough.

Monkey Fist stepped further out of a dark corner created by the intersection of wall, lintel, and column. Kim's and Ron's eyes widened simultaneously as they noticed his latest... accessory: the sinuous, simian tail that emerged from a fold in the back of his black gi and twitched behind him.

"Well, I guess it was just a matter of time" said Kim, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Sick and wrong," breathed Ron in hushed tones, adding "You do know you're making a monkey out of yourself?"

Kim giggled.

"Yes, my transformation continues. A not unwelcome side effect of the powerful monkey magic that released me from the Yono's stone prison." Fist's velvet tones echoed through the empty and darkening courtyard, and he smiled fiendishly. "Rock hard abs are one thing, but that was entirely too much."

"And your disdain bothers me not at all. As I grow closer, mentally and physically, to the simian ideal, the monkey magic grows in me. Soon I will be unstoppable!"

"Uh, check the name," Ron said. "Hana and I have both got you beat there."

"We. Are. Wasting. Time." Monkey Fist growled. "I know you have the statuette. Hand it over."

Ron was tweaked. And disgusted. Time was, his monkey phobia would have carried him away. Yet he no longer feared monkeys in general or Monkey Fist in particular; the climactic battle at Yamanouchi had truly brought that phase of his life to an end. Instead, it was Fiske's very existence - the nature of it - that grew more disturbing to Ron. As Team Possible had matured and moved on to new adventures and activities, in Ron's view the monkey-man seemed only to move backwards along a personal evolutionary timeline.

During his years studying in England, Ron had read up on his arch-foe, fully expecting Fiske to resurface eventually. The villains always did, after all. Ron sought to understand his unbalanced mind, but for the life of him couldn't make sense of the mania. The take-over-the-world schemes of guys like Dementor and Drakken were obviously just a means of compensating for their obvious insecurities and past failures. But Montgomery Fiske?

The man was the well-educated scion of a wealthy British family, a renowned explorer, and a distinguished academic. He had had everything - and had thrown it all away for his mad ambitions.

Sure, Ron had made poor choices in his life. These days he shuddered just thinking about his Naco royalty fiasco. But that was in high school; and making poor choices in high school was just a part of being a teenager.

Fiske, on the other hand, was a grown man with every advantage, who had deliberately chosen genetic freakdom in pursuit of a monstrous obsession. When Ron bothered to think about Monkey Fist these days, the strongest emotion he felt was pity.

But now...the hairball was _ruining_ their weekend. And seriously threatening Kim's happiness. Ron didn't know exactly what would happen when KP's gasbag of a boss or the blowhards in Washington found out about this brawl, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't send a congratulatory telegram.

Thus there was no room now in Ron's mind for pity. He let out a monkey kung fu battle cry, fell into the familiar ready stance – one hand over his head, the other under his chin – and prepared to kick, yet again, monkey ninja butt.

Kim, for her part, was very angry. She was still adapting to the idea that she had to set aside missions for the sake of her new career. Fighting evil and helping the helpless would always be at the core of her aspirations, but she had chosen to pursue that fight by using American power in the world to help people on an even larger scale. That called for some sacrifices on her part, including avoiding the battles that used to be her bread and butter. Yet here was Monkey Fist, out of nowhere, dragging her back into a world from which she was struggling to separate herself.

Not to mention that for weeks she had been anticipating this trip with Ron – their first real getaway since arriving in Vietnam a few months earlier. She thought wryly that perhaps her idea of being a normal tourist had angered the gods of this place. Then it struck Kim that word of a full-on clash with Monkey Fist at Angkor Wat would undoubtedly get back to her supervisor and would look like a deliberate violation of her commitment to stay out of these kinds of situations. She doubted that her superiors would care that she had not sought confrontation and that in fact it had found her.

Still, there was little choice now. She would just have to try to avoid things getting out of hand, but she was certainly going to defend herself if Monkey Fist pressed the sitch. Kim adopted _her_ ready stance, knife hands out, and prepared to fend off their monkey ninja assailants.

Rufus was &#ng pissed. Dinner was definitely going to be delayed. He peered out of Ron's pocket, ready to pitch in.

"Monkey Fist," Kim began, in what she suspected would be a vain attempt to talk her way out of the situation. "We don't have your statue or idol or whatever it is. We are here as tourists and have no interest in fighting you."

It was no surprise at all to Kim and Ron that Fist's only response was a smirk and a snicker.

"Oh, how droll. The junior diplomat wishes to parley," said Monkey Fist, his voice growing more derisive. "Shall we draw up terms of reference? Initial a memorandum of understanding? Your arrogance, Kim Possible, is hardly endearing. You are a mere sideshow in the greater drama here. I do not care in what you may or may not have _an interest_ in doing. I have it on very good authority that the legendary Onyx Hanuman – not Handyman, you pathetic buffoon - said to confer longevity and superhuman strength if its power is properly unlocked, has been turned over to you for transport back to the Tri-City Museum. Posing as tourists is of course quite the logical – and transparent– ruse.

"I grow weary of the chit-chat. This is your last chance: give me the statue."

Ron and Kim just exchanged glances. _I tried, _Kim's eyes said.

_Don't worry_, responded Ron's. _We can take this bozo. Or is it Bonzo?_

Then he said aloud, "I suppose we'll just have to let the chimps fall where they may."

Now it was Monkey Fist's turn to look disgusted. "Very well," he said. "I will take the idol by force! Monkey ninjas -- ATTACK!"

Immediately, a dozen monkeys hurled themselves at Ron and Kim from every angle.

For Team Possible, the benefit of having fought side by side for so long was that they functioned almost as a single entity. Each could sense when one of the other would zig or zag, leap or crouch. While in university Kim had continued expanding her repertoire of kung fu styles, using the time she had formerly devoted to cheerleading to train at dojos all over Paris. Meanwhile Ron, to his great delight, had found that trying to control his dumb skills only straitjacketed them; he was now more confident, and more effective, in letting his instinctive knuckle-headed yang guide his Tai Sheng Pek Kwar. And of course Rufus continued to do whatever it was he did, with great results. The three were a blur of limbs and claws, leaping, spinning, and flipping. Legs swept, arms swung, and monkey ninjas flew head over heel in every direction. Rufus was a pink blur, dealing out rodent hurt like the monkey kung fu master he was.

The attack, however, was not to be turned back so easily. Kim and Ron landed sound blows but the monkeys, with their natural dexterity and supple tails, managed to catch themselves and avoid serious damage while getting in blows of their own here and there.

Meanwhile, Monkey Fist held back, watching the course of the battle and scrutinizing the young couple for signs of where the statuette might be hidden.

The ninjas grouped themselves into squads of four, seeking to separate Team Possible from one another and take them on individually. Although the tactic was obvious, the monkeys' superior numbers meant that Kim, Ron, and Rufus had no choice but to draw close to each other and go on the defensive. Team Possible fell back, and back, and back again, through galleries and hallways. Bas-relief figures of Vishnu and Brahma looked on impassively from the walls as the combatants grappled and spun. Soon, they were in the central courtyard - still full of visitors enjoying the sunset. Tourists of all nationalities spun to gawk at the welter of howling monkeys, grim humans, and one implacable rodent. Panic surged through the crowd as some scrambled down corridors and others dashed up the temple's many towers to avoid the fracas - while a brave few whipped out their camera phones and hit 'record'.

The cries of terrified visitors mingled with the shrieks of the monkeys and the heaving breaths of the redhead, blonde, and naked mole rat. Already tired from the day's touring, Kim and Ron were rapidly flagging in the face of their numerous opponents. Monkey Fist himself still held back, clearly pacing himself to step in and bring down Kim and Ron once his minions had tired them out.

Kim vaulted into a handstand, kicking both legs out to knock two leaping monkeys on their simian asses - the first bouncing off a seductive devata, the other skidding to a hard stop against a carved panel of dancers perched on top of various animals. Though the move was successful, the redhead cursed the heavy hiking boots weighing down her tired legs and then noticed that one of her shoelaces had come untied and was whipping around loose. _Definitely a tripping hazard_, she thought. Her mind snapped back to her boots versus sandals conversation with Ron that morning when suddenly, an idea came to her.

"I need a second, Ron, please and thank you!" Kim shouted as she turned a series of rapid backflips up the steps of the central four-sided pyramid, putting some distance between herself and the monkey ninjas. The half seeking to pursue her collided with the half who were closing in on Ron. The Rufus-Ron duo then gave her just enough of the time she desperately needed. Pausing for but an instant, Kim undid the laces and tugged off her boots and socks. Wrapping the extra-long laces through and then around her clenched fists, she began swinging the boots in circles in the air. Getting a feel for how her ersatz, unbalanced flails moved, she leapt onto the metal railing that ran down the pyramid's side - originally installed for tourists daunted by the steep gradient of the tower's steps, but of perfect utility to former teen heroes - slid down, and launched herself with a double somersault back into the fray.

Ron, afforded a momentary breather by the tidal wave of Kim crashing into and through the monkey minions, had a moment of inspiration and ran back to grab Kim's still-warm and slightly moist mid-calf hiking socks. _Gorchy,_ he thought for an instant but didn't hesitate, scooping up sand and loose stones into the socks and wading back into the battle wielding _his_ new hardware.

Despite the greater reach and power afforded by their improvised weapons, Team Possible still faced difficult odds. Though their numbers had been cut in half, the monkeys continued to push Kim, Ron, and Rufus back slowly. Scowling, Monkey Fist realized that this would not be the quick victory he had anticipated. With a powerful grunt, he joined the battle in earnest in an effort to add more pressure to his foes.

The momentum of the battle teetered back and forth until the simian forces pressed the advantage too far, forcing Team Possible up the steps of the central tower. While the trio's freedom of movement was reduced, they suddenly found themselves with a height advantage from which they could rain down blows on their assailants. Meanwhile the monkeys found themselves out of reach of the walls, ceilings, and pillars they needed to launch themselves at the former teen heroes.

Suddenly a new commotion filled the courtyard. The combatants paused and turned to see a dozen of Angkor's security guards running towards them with batons drawn. Rufus, spotting an opening in this momentary distraction, flung himself directly at Monkey Fist's face, sinking his claws deep into Fiske's cheeks and planting his razor-sharp teeth in the tip of his aquiline nose. Rufus leapt free – shaking bits of sideburn from his claws – as Fiske screamed in pain and rage. Arms windmilling, Monkey Fist lost his balance on the narrow steps and tumbled down, taking some of the remaining monkey ninjas with him.

The shock of seeing their leader sprawled at the base of the pyramid, bleeding profusely from his face, sapped the remaining fight from the ninjas and they began to leap down from the pyramid, leaving Kim, Ron, and Rufus perched above them.

"Retreat!" came the familiar cry from Monty Fiske as he dragged himself out of the dirt, glared up the pyramid at his foes, turned, and loped off. Pursued by the security guards, monkeys and man-monkey scrambled up and over the series of walls and columns that made up the temple complex. Kim and Ron watched from the pyramid as the thirteen figures bounded across the dusty plain of Angkor before scattering into the jungle.

Finally catching their breath, the two looked into the courtyard below them. The smattering of fur; the still-settling clouds of dust; the shattered relics; all bore the unmistakable signs of a grande-sized monkey-driven scuffle, and that didn't even count the grinning tourists already replaying their video footage.

Kim and Ron looked at each other and then out to the west where the last rays of the sun had dimmed to a pink glow. This morning they had been excited at the prospect of sunset from Angkor's towers. Now the gorgeous view of the scattered temples of Siem Reap bathed in the rosy light was of little interest.

Kim sat down dejectedly.

"The Consul General is so going to be pissed," she said, her lower lip quivering.

Ron sat down and wrapped his arm around her delicately, not sure what to say. He wondered how, with her scraped-up arms and feet, grimy cheeks, and mission hair, she could still be so beautiful. _Must be the light. And the fact that she's Kim._

"Yeah, but it wasn't your fault," he said, determined to find a positive angle and knowing full well that she wouldn't buy his reassurances. "I'm sure the CG will understand."

They rested for a moment in silence. Kim stared out over the vista without seeing it, lost in her own thoughts. Then she leaned her head on his shoulder and started to cry. He tightened his arm around her.

Never had victory felt so awful.

II.

"Shego! Get the microwave! Can't you hear that there are more than 5 seconds between pops?"

Shego scowled but went over to the lair's breakfast nook and grabbed the bag of Pop-Pop Porter's Dad-Gum Good Popcorn ™. She was just as eager as Drakken to watch the news.

Headlines had started popping up online a few minutes earlier:

"_Former Teen Hero Rumbles in the Jungle" _

"_Kim Possible Goes Ape in Angkor"_

"_Official Business or Monkey Business? U.S. Diplomat Battles Supervillain in Cambodia"_

Gleefully, Drakken and Shego had set aside their review of the weekend's acquisitions – it was hard trying to make out those tiny, grey scrawls on the microfiche – to watch the latest news roundup.

Tricia Labowski's voice intoned from the TV screen.

"_And in the "where are they now" category: former teen hero and cheerleader Kim Possible is back in the news. After a 5-year hiatus she is once again battling villainy, this time at the ancient temple of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Possible, now a junior officer with the U.S. diplomatic corps, assigned to the American Embassy in Vietnam, declined all requests for comment. We have with us from NBS offices in New York our superhero affairs special correspondent, herself a former teen action hero, Adrena Lynn. Adrena, what do we know about the day's events?"_

The image cut to a young blonde against a backdrop of still photos and memorabilia of Team Possible, Team Impossible, Team Go, etc., and menacing shots of their various enemies.

"_Well, Tricia," _Adrena screeched, _"this is Kim Possible's first return to battling evil since her graduation from university just under a year ago. Of course, the difficulty of making a clean break from the past is a well-known phenomenon among child crime-fighters and routinely leads to depression, alcoholism and, in some celebrated instances, to toxic anger and even a turn toward evil! We need only look at the sad saga of former hero and now supervillain Shego for an example of all three…"_

The emery board in Shego's hands snapped suddenly, the retort echoing in the cavern like a gunshot. Her eyes glowed angry green as they flicked up to the television screen.

"That bitch!" she said with a sharp intake of breath.

Drakken glanced at her sidelong, fistful of popcorn halfway to his mouth, and shifted uneasily in his seat.

"_We're lucky to have footage of the confrontation, taken by a tourist on the scene,"_ Lynn said as the image cut to a shaky video of monkey ninjas scattering in every direction from a Kim Possible butterfly kick. The analyst continued her commentary in voiceover as the amateur video zoomed in on Ron tripping over one monkey's leg only to accidentally clothesline and incapacitate two opponents as his arms swung out involuntarily.

"_It is clear that she has lost a step or two from her schoolgirl days, but was still able to single-handedly defeat a horde of ape-men,"_ Lynn went on. _"Kim's sudden reappearance on the scene could be a sign that domestic life is chafing. As you'll recall, Kim married her high-school sweetheart Ron Stoppable – shown stumbling over himself in that last clip - in a private ceremony last summer. Or it could mean that the life of a mild-mannered bureaucrat does not satisfy this adrenalin, pardon the expression, junkie's need for action. Or simply that she is helpless to control her 'judge, jury, and executioner' crime-fighting instincts. There are also whispers that she is part of a secret U.S. government anti-terror squad, with her diplomatic title serving only to cover up her covert activities. Regardless, Tricia, we'll be watching closely for any further developments."_

"_Thank you for your insights, Adrena,"_ said the anchorwoman. _"To recap: former teen hero Kim Possible has returned to the global scene after a major confrontation in Cambodia. More on this story as it develops. For NBS news, I'm Tricia Labowski. Goodnight and godspeed."_

As the NBS station cut to commercial, a tense silence descended on the lair. Shego stalked over to the TV and shut it off, then glared at Drakken.

"Well? Got something to say, Blue Boy?"

"Nghh, Shego," Drakken began, then paused, and tugged at his collar. "You never have said much about your past…"

"For good reason, Dr. D," she growled. In a flash, her fists were green with plasma. "And I don't intend to start now. Or were you hoping to stage an intervention?"

"Er, no, Shego, that's quite all right…," her employer responded tepidly. "I've always cherished the right to privacy, especially yours…you see…anyway, the important thing is that Kim Possible is going to be quite distracted with, well, the chafing domesticity and the demanding State Department, yada yada. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to see a guy about a sub… and I don't mean a hoagie…"

Drakken gingerly walked to his private office, while Shego stood glowing and glowering before extinguishing her hands and heading for the weight room.

III.

"Grrrrrr!" was all that Kim could say as Adrena Lynn's face faded from the screen. She couldn't believe that 3rd rate fraud was now picking apart _her _life – on international TV, no less! Lynn had clearly been enjoying slagging Kim to an audience of millions. And implicitly comparing her to Shego! It was outrageous.

Kim was so absorbed in her rage that she almost missed Ron's crestfallen expression.

"Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry," she said.

After the battle, they had made a statement to Angkor's chief of security. He had, thank heavens, recognized Kim from her past adventures. That, plus the fact that Monkey Fist was a known felon and antiquities smuggler, were the only reasons Team Possible hadn't been arrested on the spot. Kim had immediately called her supervisor, the Deputy Principal Officer at the Consulate, to fill her in on the situation and the likelihood of a major onslaught of media attention. Then, she and Ron had returned to the hotel to rest their aching bodies, get cleaned up, and prepare for their return flight to Ho Chi Minh City early the next morning. They had paused in the middle of packing their bags to watch the broadcast. Now they sat side-by-side on the bed.

"Sorry? You?" Ron looked at her and his eyes smiled as he shook his head. "It's Monkey Butt that should be sorry. Interrupting our vacation and putting you back in the spotlight – for no reason at all. I looked up the 'Onyx Hanuman' on the web while you were in the tub – it's just another shadowy myth, even less credible than most of his crap. But why he thought we had it – it doesn't make any sense. He's just insane, KP, and nobody can do anything about that."

"I know, but I just feel so bad about our trip. It was all going so wonderfully before Monkey Fist turned up," Kim said, struggling to deal with her emotions.

Sure, in the past they had lost battles or missed opportunities to thwart villains, and at those times she had felt concerned and insecure. Most often they had won, and she had felt the familiar glow of triumph. But to win, and feel sick to her stomach about it? It was a ferociously unpleasant emotion and she wasn't quite sure how to deal.

"Plus – that 'singlehandedly' business – you never get any credit!" Kim shook her head at how suddenly things had spun out of control. Getting credit for their good acts was never an issue for Kim, but focusing on the broadcaster's implicit shot at Ron allowed her at least to tether her anger to something familiar.

"Kim," Ron put his large hands on her waist and looked into her eyes. She quieted and looked back. "This" – taking his right hand and tapping himself on the chest, then returning it to its comfortable perch just above the curve of her hip – "is one slacker and goof-off who is more than content to not be in the spotlight. Being in your shadow is a _good_ thing, Kim – it means that I'm by your side." He paused and grinned. "Check me, KP – spouting wisdom like a regular sensei!"

Kim was settling down a bit, but Lynn's other inflammatory remarks flashed back into her head.

"And she said I have lost a step! And that we're not happy in our marriage! And… that I'm an alcoholic filled with toxic anger!" Kim only felt more humiliated and angry as she reviewed the broadcast in her mind's eye.

Kim wasn't going to get over it easily, Ron could see, nor could he expect that, given the, well, monkey wrench Monkey Fist had thrown into their lives. But a little Stoppable-style straight talk and Ron-shine certainly wouldn't hurt.

"Listen, Kim," he said, watching her eyes closely to see if he could get the anger in them to dim a bit. "You know we're going to be dealing with the aftershocks of our little dust-up with Monkey Fist for a while. But Adrena Lynn? She's not worth the energy. She's a two-bit huckster promoting herself on the backs of people whose shoes – open-toed or not - she's not fit to polish."

Then he visibly appraised Kim's figure. "Besides, I'd like to see her say to your face that you've lost a step! I don't think it would take you long to correct her mistake."

At that Kim smiled appreciatively, and Ron knew the worst was over.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's finish packing and grab some dinner in town. Who knows, maybe we'll encounter some of our adoring public and sign some autographs. We're celebs again; let's go flaunt it…"

IV.

"Please come in, Kim," said Elizabeth Hunter, the Deputy at the Consulate General in Ho Chi Minh City. Leading a subdued Kim Possible into her office, Hunter settled heavily into an easy chair and waved with her hand to indicate that Kim should sit on the adjacent couch.

"I'm sure you know why you're here," Liz interlaced her fingers and let her hands fall into her ample lap. "We need to talk about what happened this weekend in Cambodia."

Kim, already literally on the edge of her seat, leaned forward still further, fists clenched in her lap. This was perhaps the most uncomfortable sitch _ever_. Being tied up in some villain's lair mere seconds from a painful death in a vat of acid or under a death ray had nothing on the stress of just sitting here with these uncomfortable silences and pregnant pauses waiting for judgment to be passed.

At their first meeting at a reception for Consulate newcomers Ron had taken an instant dislike to Hunter, finding her condescending. For her part Kim hadn't had many bosses, but as they went, she supposed Liz wasn't that bad; she was certainly self-important and, well, bossy, but at least a straight-shooter.

Of course, that didn't make Kim happy to be the one in the line of fire.

"As you know, your little adventure at Angkor has caused quite a ruckus. The Cambodian and Vietnamese governments have both protested; the Ambassador is quite upset; and some folks in Washington have already mooted the idea that we curtail you out of Vietnam and find a Washington-based assignment for you - at least until we figure out what next."

Kim opened her mouth to protest - _this is so unfair!_ - but Liz held up her hand before Kim could speak.

It took absolutely all of Kim's self-control to cut herself off.

"Thankfully, calmer heads have prevailed…for now. It took quite a lot of convincing on my part to get Washington to back down. There are a number of people back there who think that hiring you at all was a mistake because of the risks entailed. So you can imagine how many 'I-told-you-so's' are being heard in the Department at the moment.

"Anyway…," Liz sighed heavily, making it quite clear to Kim what a heavy personal burden it was for her to nobly stand up for the junior diplomat. "The Consul General and the Ambassador agreed with my point of view, and in the end we triumphed. For now, you're staying here. But let me impress upon you once again the importance of your avoiding any further trouble. We have important work to do here in Vietnam and simply cannot afford incidents like this. I've spent most of the last 48 hours trying to refute those ridiculous news reports that have you as part of a super-secret covert team. You can imagine what the Vietnamese government made of that!"

Kim took a deep breath and then spoke.

"Liz, I've been doing nothing but avoiding trouble for all the months that I've been in training in Washington and then here in Vietnam. I don't do anything that would attract attention to myself in any way. I've even thought of dying my hair just to stand out a little less."

She paused, gathering the right words, then continued. "Fist just turned up in Angkor Wat and accused us of taking some idol. Which, of course, we wouldn't. Am I not supposed to defend myself when assaulted by a madman and a dozen monkey ninjas?"

Kim stopped speaking when she realized to her own dismay that she was letting anger creep into her voice.

Liz smiled at Kim, a smile that the uninitiated might take as intended to comfort, but which Kim knew reflected only the older woman's satisfaction at seeing Kim lose her cool.

"Kim, you are clearly smart and talented and very effective – you could have a bright career with State. You are the kind of person that very quickly winds up with a lot of responsibility – _if _you can control your temper."

Liz went on, drumming her fingers on the cheap pressed-wood desk which groaned under the stacks of papers awaiting her initials.

"It goes without saying that no diplomatic mission will have you if your crime-fighting past makes you a magnet for increased danger – there is enough risk to U.S. diplomats around the world as it is. No Ambassador or security officer is prepared to accept more."

Kim knew this was true. This assignment to Vietnam was driven, at least in part, by the Department's hope that it would provide a secure and relatively low-profile location for her to put distance between her new career and her high-risk former hobby.

"But on top of that, no promotion board will advance an officer whose first response is always physical. With exceptions, of course, it is _competence_ that the State Department values. And perhaps you've heard the expression: violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."

Kim felt her face started to burn - _that was low._ But she was determined not to lose her cool again lest she prove Hunter right. Ron's instincts were good, she realized; Hunter was insufferable.

"For both these reasons, you absolutely must learn to find other ways out of these kinds of scenarios - God forbid one should occur again. Talk your way out! You _are_ a diplomat after all - even if only at the entry-level. Negotiate. Or seek help from the local authorities. I'm not asking you not to defend yourself against violence, of course. In fact I can't really tell you how to get out of these kinds of situations – I'm not you and have never been a kung-fu master or teenage crime-fighter. But problem-solving is a critical aspect of a Foreign Service career. You'll have to come up with something if you don't want to see a promising career suddenly derailed."

Liz assessed Kim and, judging from the poorly-suppressed look of anger and humiliation on the redhead's red face, decided that the lesson had been delivered and absorbed.

"Thanks for coming by, Kim. Please stay out of trouble. I've got enough to do, what with all this," she added, motioning at the stack of papers on her desk with an air of _you can't imagine how crucial I am to this operation. _"Not to mention that there was, believe it or not, a break-in this weekend at the Consulate."

"A break-in?" Kim asked, genuinely surprised. Physical violations of diplomatic premises were a big deal – particularly in this security-conscious age.

"Yes. It seems someone got on the roof and used an advanced plasma weapon to force their way into the consulate." Hunter mistook Kim's sudden intake of breath for a sign of panic. Raising her eyes from the desk, she tried to sound reassuring. "Don't worry. A team from Diplomatic Security and Global Justice did a complete sweep over the weekend. Whoever did this is gone and left nothing dangerous behind. We just need to figure out why they were here and what they were up to. Of course, we're trying to keep it quiet. Don't need to further antagonize the Vietnamese government. I'm sure I can count on you to be discreet?"

Kim was working hard to maintain a normal demeanor. She only knew three people who could sneak onto the roof of an American diplomatic facility with an advanced plasma weapon – and two of them were her brothers. Hoping that Hunter would chalk up her strange expression to the aftereffects of the tongue-lashing, she simply nodded and made her way out of the office with only one thought on her mind:

_Shego!_


	5. Unilateralism

Thanks to CajunBear73, Campy, Jason Barnett, MrDrP, Sir Sebastian, Spectre666, and steph88NYC for their reviews. Please keep the feedback coming.

And for service above and beyond, thanks to Ultimate Naco Topping, the sharp-eyed Holmes to my bumbling Watson, who beta-read while on vacation.

Disney owns Kim Possible and its ancillary characters. Any original characters, however buffoonish, belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter V**

**Unilateralism**

I.

Ron checked his watch. Again. And the clock on the wall. Again. Kim was late! Again! For the third night in a row.

He didn't know what to make of it.

Sure, back in the mission days, one or the other of them was always getting kidnapped, imprisoned, mind-wiped, what-have-you, and being late to dinner was just an occupational hazard. But the life of a junior diplomat didn't really revolve around those kinds of activities.

_Except the mind-wiping¸ _Ron thought grumpily, as Kim's conversation with Liz Hunter popped into his head. He shook it off and slouched further into the crushed velvet of the deep, heavy armchair.

"Ron! Hel-lo! You in there?" Brad Stapleton waved ostentatiously from the armchair at the far end of the coffee table, where he was chatting with a stout blonde woman and a tall African-American man. Ron and Kim were meeting some of her colleagues for a drink at the Pagoda Bar, a swanky high-ceilinged club full of exposed brick, overstuffed teak furniture, carved wooden screens, and patterned silk lamps.

Ron liked the joint – the appetizer platters were bon-diggity – but in Kim's absence he had checked out of the conversation early on. The other young officers always just ran on and on about their visa interviews. Day after day, the same thing. Couldn't they talk about anything else?

Truth be told, he was even getting a little tired of what he had come to think of as "the daily Kim debrief," the 20-minute stretch when she first got home every day and monologued about the highlights of the visa line. He just didn't find misspellings on visa applications as funny as everybody seemed to expect him to. It was all pretty "you had to be there."

Of course, he could never say such a thing to Kim.

"Heh heh. You know me, not much going on in the upper story, hah…" Ron replied, smiling weakly.

_Man, that guy is such a buffoon, _he thought, and then, to his own great surprise, was overcome by a wave of nostalgia as the epithet echoed inside his head - in Shego's voice, and Drakken's, and in the tones of numerous other villains he and Kim had encountered over the years. Being married to Kim and living this exotic life with her was certainly worth plenty of internal booyahs, but high school would always be magical – all those missions, that amazing junior prom, that over-the-top senior year.

Thinking back to the brawl with Monkey Fist three weeks ago, he realized suddenly that maybe he, too, missed the excitement and the carefree way Team Possible used to go into battle with evil. Slinging hash at the Embassy cafeteria hardly made for great drama. Though he was rather pleased with the quality improvements he had made, it wasn't exactly what he had dreamed about during five years of Culinary Arts and Hotel Management training in London.

_Well, seven layers of heaven __**still**__ kills_, he thought proudly.

Suddenly motion and a swirl of red caught his eye. He turned and saw Kim hurrying over from the doorway, her chunky black heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. She was styling a pair of navy pinstriped hip-hugging pants and a white blouse – the modern twenty-something's business wear.

She was also wearing a very sheepish look as she sat at the end of the couch nearest Ron and let forth a torrential apology.

"I'm so sorry, Ron! I don't know what happened, I just got caught up and lost track of time, there were so many security advisory opinions to do, plus I was responsible for locking up today, and, well…" She trailed off.

Ron looked at her.

She looked worried and wouldn't meet his gaze.

His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows became thin black lines as he scrutinized her for some sign of why the worry. Snappy clothes – check. Ink-smudged fingertips – check. Bountiful red hair – ch…_wait a minute!_

He reached out and carefully adjusted a few stray strands as Kim's eyes widened and then slid to the side in embarrassment, recognizing in an instant what Ron had just realized.

"KP!" he almost shouted, causing their companions' heads to swing toward him. He continued in a shocked whisper. "You have… _mission hair!" _

Kim turned crimson and her shoulders dropped a half-inch. Suddenly she seemed to make an internal decision, straightening up and boldly whispering back.

"Well? What did you expect me to do? With Shego running wild? I'm supposed to just sit on my hands?"

As if to prove the point she ran her fingers through her hair, then settled the stray tresses into place with a quick flip.

"So that's what you've been up to the last three evenings? Snooping around the consulate trying to figure out what Shego was doing in there? What if you got caught? And KP – why didn't you tell me?" Ron was incredulous, but also somewhat relieved to have an explanation for Kim's out-of-character behavior. Still, he was more than a bit miffed to be left out.

"Oh Ron, I'm sorry I didn't, I should have, I know, but knowing you I knew if you knew you'd try to convince me not to, and that'd be a no-go, 'cuz I _had_ to know, y'know?!" Kim flashed him a desperate look somewhere between puppy-dog pout and full-on defiance.

Her expression quickly transformed into an eye roll as Ron's face glazed over and his brain went into stasis under the crushing burden of attempting to parse the sentence. She had to give grown-up Ron credit, though – back in high school he would simply have passed out.

"Ron! Ronald? Ron Stoppa-blay!" Kim put her right hand on his left leg, just above the knee, and gave a quick squeeze, hoping to jolt him out his trance. Ron had many virtues, but rapid processing and assimilation of new information was still not exactly one of them.

Luckily the knee-squeeze worked. Ron's head snapped forward and he leaned in, closer to Kim.

"Ok, Possible, we'll set aside for a moment the fact that you've been sneaking around behind my back," he said with an uncommonly serious air. "Sure, I'm happy to fill the hours with Zombie Mayhem 2020 while waiting for you to come home. But…," now desperately casting about for a hook, "what of Rufus' feelings? Stuck in the apartment with me while you gallivant around the Consulate at all hours?"

At this, Rufus' whiskered face popped out of Ron's pants pocket, let out a "yuck, zombies" and then retired back inside (but not before deftly grabbing a bit of fried monkfish off the platter nearest Ron).

"Dial it back, Rondo," Kim said, reaching for a summer roll, then dipping it in peanut sauce. "There was no gallivanting."

"Hmmm…. Was there gadding about?" inquired the blonde.

"Nope," responded Kim through a mouthful of shrimp, vegetables, and rice paper.

"Swanning around? Rambling? Was there…traipsing?" This last in a tone of eager expectation.

"Ron! I was just looking around a bit, trying to figure out why Shego was there. You know, checking for plasma burns, strands of hair…." Kim paused for a moment, then leaned in further and said in a furtive whisper, "GJ incident reports…"

Ron's jaw dropped. "Rifling! There was rifling?! You rifled!"

He struggled to regain composure and lowered his voice again. "Aw man. I'm sitting here with the junior leaguers while you go on a mission. C'mon, Kim, what happened to the team? Or are you just the 'me' in team?"

"We are a team, Ron, I promise," Kim replied, reaching out and taking his hand. Then she hesitated. "Ron, there's no 'me' in team."

"Sure there is, KP…if you say it backwards…uh, and drop the 'a'…and, yeah, the 't'…ok, ok, no 'me' in team. Point taken! Whatever. You know what I mean. Hey! There's a 'me' in mean!"

Kim intervened before the conversation could spin further out of control. "It's just that… well, I need to know what's going on, and if I told you then you'd become an accessory to my sneaking. I don't want you to get in trouble too. This is my problem and my responsibility."

Ron was genuinely confused. "What are you talking about? 'Your responsibility'?"

Kim's face registered her surprise. "Well, Shego, of course. Ron, you don't think that it's just coincidence that she happens to break in at the one diplomatic facility in the world where I happen to be working? What are the odds?"

Ron shuddered at an unpleasant memory. The air seemed filled with the odor of cupcake. "Don't get me started on odds, KP. Neither of us wants to see that movie again." At this Rufus popped up once more, shaking one little paw angrily at Ron while fixing him with a threatening glare. Ron's hands waggled a _no, no, don't worry_ to the mole rat. "But you can't be sure that Shego came here because of you."

Kim lifted an eyebrow.

Ron would not be cowed and quickly eyebrowed back. "Surely there's something valuable in a consulate that she could be stealing. Blank passports. Visa thingies. State secrets. Those cool rubber stamps with the eagle on 'em."

Kim ignored his interjection. "But those things could be had anywhere in the world. I'm supposed to believe that Shego's break-in here is just some crazy coincidence? It _must_ have something to do with me. What other explanation can there be?"

"Anyway, the incident reports are inconclusive. The Consulate is pretty secure from the outside, but it's open architecture inside and nobody locks their doors, so Shego didn't leave her usual trail of destruction. She didn't break into any of the safes, they know that, and that's where the valuable stuff is anyway. They have _no idea_ what she went in there for."

Ron was as yet unsatisfied and returned to his previous line of argument.

"Ok, well, you know the risks you're taking, but still, KP, we're supposed to be in this together. For better and for worse, and all that jazz. I know you've got to get to the bottom of this – if you didn't try, I'd start wondering who replaced my Kim with a 3rd-rate synthodrone" (at this Kim smiled) "but you shouldn't take this on by yourself. Rufus and I could help – it's not like we're not experienced. In sneaking, I mean."

Kim's smiled broadened; then she put on her serious face and squeezed Ron's hand.

"Ron – I know you're just trying to protect me. Please don't worry. I'm being very careful and I feel like I'm getting close. I promise not to take any action without talking to you first… but I can look around a little bit without needing to report in every time, can't I?"

Ron realized that he wasn't going to make any progress. Kim was taking Shego's mysterious appearance personally and he knew his wife too well to think that she'd back off. Besides, an idea had begun to form in the back of his mind.

He gave Kim a small smile.

"I suppose so. We'll speak no more of it. Hey, you should go say hi to Brad and Nancy and the rest of the gang over there. I hear there were some crazy funny typos today! Some applicant wrote terrorist instead of tourist again! Ha ha..." he trailed off, unconvincingly.

Kim smiled back and gave him a quick peck on the check.

"Thanks, Ron. You really are the best," she said before sliding down the couch and animatedly joining the conversation in progress down at the other end.

Ron tapped on his pants pocket. Rufus' head popped up and two beady eyes locked on two soft brown ones.

"We've got to do something, buddy," Ron muttered to the hairless rodent. "Kim's going to get into big trouble if she keeps snooping around after hours. You know what we need to do."

One thought coursed through both minds:

_Time to ferret out some answers._

II.

"Nghh! Rgghhhh! Ugghh…"

Guttural nonsense sounds emerged from a painfully clenched lantern jaw as perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth ground against each other beneath an absurdly outsized pair of magnifying goggles.

Drakken leaned further over the workbench, nose practically on the documents in front of him, as if sheer proximity would somehow clarify the writing.

In the background, jumpsuited henchmen lugged machinery and dragged cables. Sparks flew from open sockets and arc-welders as steel and titanium were muscled into place.

In the midst of the madness, Shego sat in a high-backed chair, feet crossed and resting on the table in front of her, as she paged through the latest edition of _VillaInStyle_. She looked up at Drakken.

"Hey, Captain Caveman, could you stop with the grunting? I'm reading, here."

Drakken snapped off the goggles and glared. "Shego! As if it weren't hard enough, trying to concentrate with all this racket."

"You know, I don't see what the big deal is. You just trace over the words with a highlighter. Makes the writing show up much more clearly. Didn't you ever have to do this with a college sourcebook that'd been photocopied like a million times?" Shego paused, then smiled evilly. "Ooh, that's right, _Doctor_ D… no college for you!" Her face brightened. "Hey, maybe now we know why! There but for the highlighters go I.…"

Drakken's unibrow waggled back and forth, up and down, as a series of emotions, none of them good, washed across his face. He stalked over to another desk, pulled open a drawer with a loud bang, and fished out a yellow highlighter. He made a couple of swipes across the paper, peered at it, then threw down the marker in triumph.

"Ha! Your silly little trick was worthless. Who's the smugmug now, eh, Shego?"

"Nope, still me," Shego replied, head down in her magazine.

"I just don't understand it," Drakken went on in a quieter voice, rubbing his head with one wee hand and looking forlornly at the documents. "I've been over every bit of this file dozens of times and triangulated every scrap of geographical information. It just doesn't make sense. Their boat wasn't even close! Curse you, Mr. Le, and your darned file!"

Shego set down the magazine and stared at Drakken.

"Did you just say Mr. Le?"

"Yes, Shego, what of it?"

"Not Mr. Nguyen?"

"No, Shego. First name Nguyen, middle name Van, last name Le. Just like here." He showed Shego a photocopy of an old newspaper.

Now it was Shego's turn to clench her jaw, grind her teeth, and groan. And then yell.

"DRAKKEN! You… you… buffoon!" Her fists blazed green involuntarily and it was all she could do to keep from frying him where he stood. "You call yourself a super-genius? Arghh! All you do is put the "rant" in ignorant!"

"Wha…" Drakken's voice was suddenly quiet. As was the entire cavern, what with the henchmen having fled at the unwelcome sight of her plasma. "What are you talking about, um, Shego?"

"His name," she ground out, from between teeth that sparked green from the pressure, "is backwards."

Drakken stared, uncomprehendingly.

"The Vietnamese, like the Chinese, write their names in reverse order as compared with European naming conventions," she said, as if speaking to a particularly slow child.

Comprehension spread across Drakken's features and, for the second time in ten minutes, his unibrow did an insane jig above his eyes.

"So…," he began, wheels turning under the ponytail.

"So…," mocked Shego, "his _last _name is Nguyen, and his _first_ name is Le. But, you know, you guessed right on the middle name. One out of three ain't bad, huh?"

Drakken was bent on recovering control of the conversation. "So…," he mocked back, his voice dripping with air quotes, "_you_ retrieved the wrong file from the Consulate."

Shego took a deep breath and sighed. _Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. I wonder if the goons hooked up the blender yet. I could sure use a daiquiri._

"That's right, Doc," she replied, relatively calmly. "I retrieved the wrong file. Thanks to your screw-up."

"Whatevs, Shego. I'm a mad scientist, not a sociolinguist."

Shego's face showed nothing, but a close observer might have detected a hint of a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes, Doc, but are you a cunning one?"

"Cunning?" Drakken mused over the non sequitur. "Why yes, I must say I consider myself to have a facility with languages. Why, just think of that time I bamboozled DNAmy with my wiles and my honeyed tongue. Yes, I suppose I am something of a cunning linguist, now that you…"

He stopped when he realized that Shego's was practically vibrating as she struggled to maintain a deadpan expression. He squinted at her, thinking through his last few words; then his eyes widened and his face turned a deep purple.

The caterpillar above his eyes danced yet again.

"Shego," he muttered, through once-again-clenched teeth, "not another word. You will go back to the Consulate and get me the correct microfiche. Or so help me…" He paused.

"So help you what? What's the matter? Cat got your honeyed tongue?" She smiled. "I'll get your microfiche. Small price to pay for the chance to watch your face a minute ago, Dr. Cunning Linguist." With that parting shot she sauntered off to get changed.

Drakken opened and closed his fists a few times, then hollered into the darkness of the cavern.

"Stevens! Get that blender installed! _NOW!_"


	6. Strained Relations

Thanks to campy, CajunBear73, Yankee Bard, MrDrP, Lady Rhetorica, and Sir Sebastian for reviewing. Everyone else, thanks for reading -- and please review! (Even if it's only to say "your story bites and I couldn't even finish the chapter it was so boring.")

And of course, thank you ever so muchly much to Ultimate Naco Topping, who continues to endure my harrassment and slog through my prose for no reward to speak of.

Need it be said that I don't own Kim Possible or any of the ancillary characters? I think not.

* * *

**Chapter VI**

**Strained Relations**

I.

Ron crouched in the shadows of the Consulate's perimeter wall, waiting for the high sign from Rufus, who had scampered up a few moments earlier and was busy working his magic with the surveillance cameras. Sure enough, a moment later came the familiar chitter of a self-satisfied naked mole rat who had just disabled a high-tech security system.

_Who'd have thought that chitter would be familiar, _thought Ron.

His mind kept wandering as he and Rufus, with typical seat-of-the-pants, skin-of-the-buck-teeth proficiency, worked their way across the compound: over barriers, across roofs, through trees, and around buildings. The roar of thousands of passing motorbikes outside the walls covered up the occasional misstep or the grunt of a hard landing, while Rufus' techno-prowess kept them ahead of the cameras and alarms.

Ron was in a very good mood. If he weren't infiltrating a U.S. diplomatic facility in the dead of night he would have been whistling.

_It's great to be sneaking again,_ he thought, as he crawled beneath a hedgerow. The Fearless Ferret theme sounded inside his head, and he felt just a touch of regret that he and Rufus hadn't worn the costumes. He knew, however, that they had been right to forego their ferrety finery (now fodder for Halloween and costume parties). Basic black was much better for serious skulking.

Ron ducked into the hollow of the enormous tamarind tree that anchored the Consulate's rear lawn, and scanned his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary (anything, that is, other than a tow-headed ninja and a hairless rodent effortlessly defeating multiple layers of Uncle Sam's security).

There was nothing to be seen. He moved on as his mind roved of its own accord.

The early world-saving escapades with Kim had never been about the adrenalin, or even about the do-gooding. Though it did feel nice afterwards to see the impact on the people they had helped.

No, he had done it because that's what Kim did. It was no secret that when Kim first put up her website, Ron was very much a loner. No hobbies to speak of, and certainly he wasn't grinding away at the schoolwork or spending time at baseball practice. So…if Kim was going to travel the world fighting crime, then so was he. He really didn't separate it in his head from the other things they did together. Go to a movie? Check. Hang out at Bueno Nacho? 'K. Fly off to Japan to fight a crazed supervillain? Sure – just give me a sec to switch shoes.

But over time, Team Possible became as much a part of his identity as it was hers. Not the same way, of course. Kim was the big gun, the driving force, thriving on the intensity and excitement. But he too was shaped by the experience. Jet-setting around the world became commonplace, as did the brushes with celebrity and real power. In all honesty, it was _fun_. He hadn't ever reflected much about what the constant undercurrent of excitement had meant to him, but tonight, back in action, he was coming to understand why Kim missed it as much as she did.

At the rear door of the chancery, boy and rat stopped, flattened themselves against the brick wall, and refocused on the task at hand. With a sidelong glance Ron examined the scramble pad which controlled the door. If he entered his code the Consulate would have a record of his entrance, and _that_ would hardly be ferrety at all. He motioned to Rufus, who squirmed his way behind the pad's mounting and started rewiring.

After a moment he could hear the sharp sound of magnetic locks unlatching. He eased the door open and slipped in, Rufus right behind him.

They tiptoed up to the second story and gently entered the code on the cipher lock at the top of the stairwell. Shego had come in from the roof, so the second floor of the stout Consulate building seemed as good as any place to start looking.

For what, he had no idea.

It might seem preposterous to think that, after 3 weeks of Global Justice, Diplomatic Security, and Kim Possible rooting around in the building, there would be anything to find. Yet Ron trusted himself. How many times had he stumbled over a secret entrance, a map, or a crucial piece of equipment, entirely by accident? If he'd bothered to think about it, this ability of his might have scared him, but he just assumed it was some aspect of the MMP. He seemed to be a walking no-logic good-luck zone, and he was content with that.

_Click._ His flashlight shot a thin beam of light across the darkened second story and he began to make his way over towards the Consul General's office. Since Shego wasn't snaking blank passports out of the safes – passports which, he knew from Kim, would easily fetch 30,000 a pop on the black market – then she must have been seeking something in the CG's office. After all, where else would there be something valuable in a U.S. government facility with such lousy security?

He was just slinking around the corner of one of the rows of beaten and worn metal filing cabinets when he suddenly felt a powerful blow to his back. The flashlight flew from his hand, sharp-edged shadows leaping every which way until the light hit a cabinet with a loud bang and went out. Abruptly he found himself face down on the industrial carpet, a heavy weight on his back and his wrists held painfully behind him.

II.

The weight was familiar.

"Uh, KP. I'm going to need those back… again."

"Ron?!"

Kim groaned as she swiftly rolled off his back and onto the floor beside him. She lay there, propped up on her elbows, staring at him in confusion. He shifted to his side to face her and propped his head up on one hand.

"So…come here often?"

"Ron! What are you doing?"

A light clicked on. Ron recognized it as coming from Kim's wrist Kimmunicator, clearly resurrected from the back of her underwear drawer.

"Kim – did you drag Wade into this? I'm pretty sure we're committing some kind of federal crime. And he had such a bright future…"

"What up, Ron?" asked the goateed hologram of the older but still apple-cheeked genius peering warmly at him from several inches above the wristband.

"Yo, Wade! How's the Quantas computing going? It'd be badical if you moved to Australia – much closer than Middleton!"

"Uh, quant_um_, Ron. Quantum computing. And it's going great – had to buy the neighbor's house just to get the extra lab space. But it's all good, 'cuz I got another MacArthur grant."

"Well, just don't leave the cake out in the rain, 'k?"

"Uh. Okay, Ron," Wade responded, clearly perplexed.

Kim chose that moment to intervene.

"Okay, boys. Glad you could get caught up, but we're supposed to be in stealth mode, not hosting a reunion. Wade, Ron's gonna go bye-bye now until we can sort things out."

Wade nodded, gave Ron a smile and a thumbs-up, and signed off. Immediately Kim turned back to Ron, her eyes ablaze.

"Ron! I can't believe you were sneaking in here! What did you think you were doing?"

"Me? Kim, I'm helping out! Every time you come here is another chance you might get caught, and that'd blow it for sure with State. I need to be the one doing the snooping. If I get busted, all that happens is I have to give up overseeing the production of croquet monsieur at the caf. And, now that you bring it up, what are _you _doing here? You told me you were going out with Megan and Nancy!"

"Well, I knew if I told you what I was really up to tonight you'd want to come along."

"And what would be wrong with that?"

Kim paused.

"I, uh, well… well, I'm supposed to be stealthily infiltrating, right? And your infiltrations have a tendency to end with you falling head over heels out of an air vent with a bang and a loud yell."

The hurt on Ron's face was palpable.

"Oh. I see."

He was searching for a rejoinder when he detected a change in the atmosphere. The room had suddenly filled with a faint green glow. As one his and Kim's heads snapped up to see a lithe figure with illuminated hands sitting cross-legged on top of a nearby filing cabinet, sneering down at them.

"Ugh. You two are so _lame. _So, Kimmie…domesticity really _does_ chafe!"

Kim leapt to her feet and snapped back, "Not as much as your handcuffs will!"

Lightning fast, Shego launched herself with a double somersault off the filing cabinets, landing directly behind Kim and striking out with a vicious leg sweep.

"Princess -- did you know that 50 percent of all cheerleader-buffoon marriages end within a year?"

Kim leapt over Shego's leg. Spinning around, she planted her hands on the floor and kicked out backwards, sending Shego reeling.

"Nice stat," retorted Kim, "but did _you_ know that prison marriages end in 15 to 20 depending on time off for good behavior?"

Shego grimaced, growled, and stepped up the tempo of her assault. For a few seconds the villain and the hero were a blur of kicks, punches, and blocks.

Ron and Rufus peered around in the darkened consulate, lit only by the eerie green flashes from Shego's fist, on guard for Drakken or some henchmen. To their surprise, none emerged.

_Wait a minute. Shego's **fist?**_ Ron squinted at Kim's once-and-again arch-nemesis.

Indeed, only one hand was aglow; Shego was using just her right to cast green flame at the redhead. The left appeared to be clutching… a piece of microfiche? Ron looked back at the cabinet on which Shego had been sitting. Sure enough, the lock had been reduced to slag and the top drawer was just slightly open. He dashed over and examined the contents. The gap in the rack of cards was plainly visible. Without even thinking about it Ron grabbed the cards on either side of the gap.

Fighting one-handed was beginning to take its toll on Shego. Without warning she leapt backwards onto a windowsill leading to the Consulate grounds, and looked down at Team Possible gathered beneath her.

"You know, they installed a plasma detection system after my last visit," Shego said, smiling wickedly. She reached into her leg pouch and removed a small device. "Too bad I disarmed it on the way in. But you know, now might be the right moment for it! Good luck with the investigation, Kimmie!"

Shego pressed a button on the gadget, then turned to the metal grating on the window. Her hand flared emerald and, with one sweep, she cut through the bars and leapt out.

Immediately sirens started blaring and emergency lights began to flash on across the consulate grounds. Kim and Ron stared at each other in shock.

"Come on!" cried Kim as she grabbed Ron's hand and pulled him to the window from which Shego had jumped. Spotlights silhouetted the raven-haired villainess dashing across rooftops. Ron and Kim saw their chance and swung out into the darkness, heading in the other direction.

III.

Kim examined herself in the mirrored wall of the elevator as she rode up to the Consul General's apartment. The ninety percent humidity of Saigon often made her hair flat and limp and left an unattractive sheen on her face. In the old days missions in the tropics were routine, but her natural environment was always the cool, dry air of Middleton and, later, the temperate, if occasionally scorching, climate of Paris. Living in south-east Asia had required some serious sartorial and hair-style adjustments.

Kim turned her head from left to right, checking herself out from various angles - smoothing a wrinkle here, plucking a bit of lint there. She wanted to look smart, professional, yet cool for this reception tonight. There was plenty of time to fix herself as the elevator slowly crept up.

_Ok, looking good, Possible. No worries. _She thought back to when it was all about looking good for hotties like Josh Mankey or even… the Yamanuchi student… yes, Hirotaka, that was it. Not an issue any more, now that she was with Ron.

Ron.

She sighed.

Since that crazy night at the Consulate over the weekend, they had been walking on eggshells around each other. By some miracle they had made it out without being spotted. Shego's dramatic exit had given them enough cover to slip unseen over the wall into the French compound, where security was much slacker. There they had waited silently until they could skulk on home.

Kim had been on edge the next few days of work, pretending at nonchalance while she waited every moment to be summoned into Liz's office and presented with footage of their break-ins from some video camera one of them had overlooked.

Thankfully the expected summons had not come. The various law-enforcement agents involved were completely focused on Shego's return visit. This time she had even left a clue: a damaged cabinet, and a conspicuous gap in the microfiche files inside. Kim could only surmise that Shego had heard them coming and, pressed for time, had had to break into the filing cabinet and grab what she needed rather than pick the lock and cover her tracks.

Yet the purpose of Shego's crime was completely mystifying. Stealing microfiched records of Vietnamese refugees? Perhaps GJ had some theories about the smash-and-grab, but if so, they weren't telling. Well, they weren't telling her, anyway.

But she could live with not knowing while she bided her time before relaunching her own, personal investigation.

It was the awkwardness with Ron that was hard to bear.

He had been very hurt by her confession that she hadn't wanted him along, that she feared that the forces of chaos that surrounded him would end her budding career.

Ron, in many ways, was a great mystery to her and, she often thought, to himself. He was possessed of truly extraordinary monkey powers – she had seen them with her own eyes on graduation day – but only seemed to call on them when her existence itself was in danger. For whatever reason, save-the-world sitches didn't seem to invoke his powers. Only threats to her own physical person triggered them.

With a warm feeling in her chest she thought about how ferociously flattering this was, and, and how wonderful for the way it made her feel safe. She could let her guard down occasionally, give up control every now and then, with the sure knowledge that Ron would never let anything truly bad happen to her.

Still, it was confusing. Irregularly brilliant in battle, but more often just irregular, Ron had only gone totally MMP on two occasions since graduation, both times saving her life. And, despite what Ron might think of U.S. government intentions, the Consulate was not a secret lair that they could demolish. To determine why Shego had gone there, Kim needed to slip in and out undetected, leaving no trace behind. While she had no reason to suspect that the building had a large red self-destruct button somewhere, she had no doubt that Ron would find the effective equivalent.

Thoughts of the fight they had had on arriving home in the wee hours of the morning still plagued her. It wasn't even really a fight. Just her being angry and Ron being hurt.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I needed to be sneaky and you know that you always get so distracted!"

"I can't believe you think I would have done anything to risk your career, Kim."

"Ron! Do you think you can guarantee that you wouldn't have set off an alarm or accidentally brought down the ceiling? You know how you are…"

At that, he had just stopped and looked at her. The pain in his soft brown eyes was evident. Kim had stopped short and put her hand over her mouth in surprise and shame at her callous treatment of him.

"Yes. Yes, I do know a little bit about how I am." Then a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Kim. You're right – it wasn't a good idea. Listen, I'm really tired, and I bet you are too. Let's talk about it more in the morning."

But they hadn't talked about it more. She had woken up late and had to dash off to work, and that evening he was asleep by the time she got home from a work-related function, and then the week just got busier and busier between her regular workload and all the preparations for the visiting congressional delegation. As a result they hadn't even cleared the air yet.

Thinking about the congressional delegation brought her mind back to the moment and the reception in their honor she was about to attend. She took a last look at herself in the mirror and sighed again. Tonight, after the reception, they _were_ going to talk.

_Ping. _The elevator had finally arrived at the penthouse on the 82nd floor. Kim stepped out and turned down the hallway towards the buzz of the cocktail party.

IV.

Ron leaned against the back wall of the CG's vast reception area. One hand was jammed in his pants pocket; the other held a glass of some lousy chardonnay. He moodily scanned the crowd of diplomats, Vietnamese government figures, and businessmen who milled about over the marble floor, snapping up canapés off of trays placed strategically around the room.

He just couldn't bear the thought of mingling.

He'd been to enough receptions with Kim over the last few months to get pretty familiar with the drill.

"_Nice to meet you, Ron. And what do you do?"_

"_Oh, my wife – you know, Kim, over there" (nodding in her general direction), "she's with the consulate. I'm the, y'know" (sheepish look), "trailing spouse." Pause. "I'm doing some great things with the menu at the Consulate cafeteria, though!"_

It took about three nanoseconds of such for his interlocutor to start shoulder-surfing, looking right past him for someone more interesting to talk to. Less, if the interlocutor was a young single businessman on the prowl.

Occasionally someone would recognize them, though that had been happening less and less often, except for a brief surge right after the throwdown at Angkor with Monkey Fist. And when they were recognized it was either the same old questions about the world-saving, or – ugh – the frat-boy "nudge-nudge" about being married to Kim.

No, he was content to hang out over in the corner. He didn't really know why he was there anyway. Things had been so tense between the two of them after Sunday's disastrous snoopfest. Even though they weren't really angry any more – well, he wasn't, and he didn't think Kim was -- their fight that night was still hanging over the two of them like a dark cloud. But if he hadn't come to the reception Kim would think he was still mad.

He wasn't.

He just felt bad.

The night at the Pagoda Bar, Kim's explanation for not bringing him along had seemed perfectly plausible and Kim-like; she saw Shego's presence as her responsibility, and didn't want to drag anyone else, let alone him, into it.

He had never suspected that the real reason was her fear that his loose-cannon-ness-ness could jeopardize her career. He had been pretty upset when she said that, and they had gone to bed in a real funk. Then she had dashed off the next morning and, as he moped around the house getting ready for another day at the cafeteria, he had realized: she was right.

The flashlight.

He tried to tell himself it was her fault. She had knocked it out of his hand, after all. But he had to admit that if he hadn't been there Kim surely would have been just fine, and there wouldn't be an object full of Stoppable-Possible-Rufus DNA for any amateur forensic investigator to find.

Even worse, he hadn't said anything to Kim about it. He didn't know how. She would be destroyed with anxiety. He supposed they could come up with some semi-plausible excuse as to how the flashlight had gotten there – fallen out of Kim's bag during the normal workday, perhaps – but it would only further undermine her bosses' confidence in her.

There was a bit of a commotion across the room and he glanced over to see Kim, looking awesome as ever, enter the suite. A familiar scene played out as dozens of heads of the aforementioned young single businessmen swung in her direction. Many pairs of their dates' eyes narrowed, flicked to the offending newcomer, back to their entranced companions, and back to the newcomer's glorious red hair, green eyes, and perfect skin.

Ron watched as Kim started to work the room, shaking hands, laughing as if everyone she met was an old friend, pushing her hair out of her eyes while she made conversation. While she had always had great reserves of self-confidence in hairy sitches, it had only been during college that she really began to be comfortable in social settings like this one. Where once there was an essentially shy girl, painfully self-conscious, now there was a confident woman who could mix with the best of 'em.

"She's really something, isn't she?"

"I beg your pardon?"

There was a bit of an edge to Ron's voice as he turned to look at the person who had just addressed him. He found himself staring up at a tall, middle-aged man in a nice suit, understated tie, and a pair of European-styled eyeglasses.

"Your wife. She's really something, no?"

This time Ron detected a faint German accent.

"Do I know you?" _Darn, didn't mean to sound so hostile. There'll be plenty of time for hostility later, if he turns out to be a creep._ "I mean, have we met?"

"No, no, we haven't. But I know you, Ron Stoppable, former teen hero. Allow me to introduce myself. Stefan Abt. I'm the food and beverage manager of the Hecksher up in Hanoi. I'm down for the week looking at vendors, and your Consul General was kind enough to invite me tonight."

They shook hands; Abt enthusiastically, Ron somewhat warily. The Hecksher was the newest hotel in Vietnam – very boutique-y – and the Hanoi hotspot for dining and clubbing. While he was perfectly pleased to meet the F&B manager (such connections could be useful when you wanted a table at a popular time on a Saturday evening), he was a bit skeptical of anyone who opened conversations with non-specific compliments about Kim.

"So…Stefan… why do you know who I am?"

"You mean other than from your world-famous world-saving exploits? You know, not everyone has forgotten how you and Ms. Possible defeated an alien invasion five and a half years ago."

"Heh," voiced Ron, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well, that's nice to know, I guess…. We're kind of in a different line of work now."

"I'm guessing it's less stimulating but with better hours." Abt hesitated, then pressed ahead. "Actually, I have a question about your new line of work, Ron. May I call you Ron? Pardon me if this seems a bit personal – but surely someone with your background and skills has higher aspirations than working in a cafeteria?"

Ron wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. He took a sip from his wine glass to buy time before replying. But Abt didn't give him a chance, instead handing Ron a business card.

"Your Wiki profile mentions that you spent five years in England studying cooking and the hospitality industry. And the CG has a very high opinion of your work. When you get tired of short-order cookery, give me a call. We can always use someone with your gastronomic credentials."

Ron looked down at the textured, cream-colored card with the embossed printing. Working at the Hecksher? That would really be a step up. But Hanoi was a thousand miles away and he couldn't even contemplate such a commute right now, not with him and Kim barely speaking.

He made to hand the card back to Abt when the hotelier suddenly shifted his gaze away from Ron and into the middle distance where the reception guests were shifting around by the entrance to the apartment.

"Ah. It appears the guests of honor have finally arrived. My goodness, that big fellow in the middle looks kind of familiar. Which state did you say these Congressmen were from?"

Absentmindedly tucking the card into the pocket of his suit jacket, Ron shrugged and turned in the direction of Abt's gaze.

"STOPPABLE! POSSIBLE!"

Ron's spine involuntarily snapped taut at that terrifyingly familiar voice. Somehow his eyes locked onto Kim's across the now hushed room. In that split second he could see her reaction was the same as his.

_No…way, _they mouthed to each other in shock.

"Yessss…way," boomed Representative Steve Barkin, Colorado 5th, as he strode in.


	7. Building Alliances

Thanks to CajunBear73, Campy, Drakonis Aurous, MrDrP, Ran Hakubi, Samurai Crunchbird, Sir Sebastian, and spectre666 for the reviews and encouragement. Thanks to the rest of you for reading - but I do so wish you'd leave a review!

Much appreciation as always to Ultimate Naco Topping, my own personal CSI:Fan Fiction, forensically detecting weaknesses for me to correct. And if you haven't yet read his _Season 4: Through the Cracks_, well, good garden party! What are you doing sitting there reading this?

Disney owns Kim Possible, and I derive no profit from this work other than the pleasure of writing it and occasionally seeing it read.

* * *

**Chapter VII**

**Building Alliances**

I.

"Mr. Barkin?" Kim stared wide-eyed at the hulking… Congressman.

"Well. Possible. Stoppable," he growled. "Isn't this a pretty picture?"

"Yeah," muttered Ron under his breath, "if, by pretty picture, you mean _Guernica_."

Kim, shocked out of her Barkin-induced paralysis, stifled a chuckle. Their former assistant principal's enormous chin swiveled in her husband's direction. Meanwhile the drone of the cocktail party resumed as the other guests returned to their chatter.

"Uh, Mr… Representative, uh, Barkin…," Kim began, "it's just that it's a bit of a surprise to see you. Here. In Vietnam. Uh, as a member of Congress. You see."

Barkin smiled.

Kim and Ron stared, unsure whether to smile back or flee in terror. Their eyes met again.

_What's going on? _thought Kim.

_We can take him, _thought Ron.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, astonishingly, before either had a moment even to cower reflexively, Barkin put an arm around each of them, and proceeded to push them towards the bar.

"It was a long trip," he said, "and I need a drink. Join me?"

Kim nodded wordlessly as she allowed herself to be dragged along.

_Cheese and crackers,_ thought Ron.

II.

One scotch, one caipirinho, and two screaming vikings later (Ron mixed the drinks himself, and given his mood, the cucumbers were more than slightly bruised), the three found themselves gathered around a coffee table in a corner of the room.

_Monique was wrong, _thought Ron, slumping into the couch. _No more school bells, no more mystery meat. But lots more Barkin!_

While Ron brooded, Kim warily investigated, rather like a desert camper checking her shoe for scorpions.

"Well, Possible, it _was_ boring without you and… Stoppable," Barkin grudgingly admitted. "And I kept coming back to that tongue-lashing your Nana gave me in the gym – surely you heard about it." He looked solemnly at Kim, then glared at Ron as if to warn him not to take the conversation lightly.

Ron gulped and busied himself with his drink for a moment so as not to meet the basilisk's gaze.

"I realized that… that I could do better. I realized it was time to step back up. Enough with trying to impose discipline on _high schoolers, _and instead try to have an impact on a larger playing field." He looked away for a moment, then back at the couple. "Got some counseling. Started looking for opportunities to make a difference on a bigger scale. Volunteered. Got a seat on the city council."

"And, when Representative Hufnagle retired unexpectedly due to his unfortunate Zamboni accident, I knew it was my time. One special election later, and there I was – in the Congress."

"Mr. B.! You were photographed in a dress with a rubber chicken for a stole. Why the heck did anyone vote for you?"

Ron regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.

Barkin just stared at him, eyes narrowed, clenching his tumbler until his knuckles went white.

Then his fist unclenched and something quite extraordinary happened.

He laughed. Long and hard, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face.

Kim and Ron's hands found each other instinctively and their fingers intertwined.

"We're in the end times, Kim," whispered Ron.

"We'll face it together, Ron," Kim whispered back.

Barkin set down his glass, wiped his brow, and put his hands on his knees.

"Well, Stoppable, you're still a piece of work." He breathed in deeply. "Thank you for reminding me of that cherished time we spent together…."

"I have to assume that there must have been some sympathy among voters for an ex-military man with PTSD. With a diagnosis like that, I'm never going to be elected President, to be sure, but for an independent Congressman from Colorado, it wasn't the end-all-be-all. Though my opponents did have a field day with it…. And, I suspect that, in all honesty, despite my.…performance during the Lorwardian invasion, my association with you in the voters' minds helped quite a bit."

Ron could not believe his ears. "You're saying Kim's got coat-tails?!"

Kim looked at Ron bemusedly, blushed slightly, and turned back to Barkin.

"Anyway," continued Barkin, who clearly had had enough of his sharing moment with Team Possible, "when I heard that some of my colleagues were planning this little junket, I thought it would be fun to get back out here."

He smiled evilly. "And the expressions on your faces just now! It was worth every penny of your tax dollars that brought me here."

Ron scowled.

Kim just looked thoughtful. That was quite a confession for Mr. Barkin to make, to them, his former students. To Ron!

Just then she felt a presence behind her and looked up to see the Consul General standing there, Deputy Principal Officer Liz Hunter right behind him.

"Oh!" Kim popped up and smoothed out her skirt. "Mist- I mean Representative Barkin. I don't know if you've met our Consul General, Sanderson Roy." She surreptitiously gave Ron a mini-squint with the unmistakable message of _Get up!_

Ron got up.

"Thank you, Kim," said Roy, with a nod to the redhead. "Evening, Ronald, how are you." He turned back to Barkin. "Very nice to meet you, Congressman. Welcome to Ho Chi Minh City."

The CG turned back to Kim.

"I understand that Mr. Barkin represents your home town. And he told Liz earlier that you knew each other when you were in high school?"

Kim nodded, unsure of where this was going.

"Then you'll be delighted to know that he has specifically requested that you accompany the delegation and the Ambassador on their trip this weekend to the delta."

Kim was surprised but, knowing a piercing look when one was directed at her, tried to project responsibility and seriousness of purpose. While simultaneously body-languaging at Ron to close his gaping jaw.

"Wow! Uh, that's really an honor. But… you're sure that it makes sense? What I mean is, I'm just doing consular work – I don't know much about rice exports or catfish breeding or whatever it is the delegation is looking at."

"No matter, Kim," responded the CG. "No time like the present to start familiarizing yourself with the broader range of issues with which we deal. Besides, the Ambassador has been eager to meet you, and this is a good opportunity for that."

Kim could see, out of the corner of her eye, Liz frowning slightly, surely at the idea that such a junior official would get real face time with the Ambassador. Seeing Liz discomfited was a tremendous mood booster for Kim.

_Spankin'!_

"I'd be delighted to accompany the delegation, of course," Kim replied.

"Good, then. Ambassador Marks is flying down on Friday morning and I believe they're departing for the delta mid-day. Talk to Lucy in Econ to make sure you're included in the arrangements."

"Now, if you'll excuse me. Congressman Barkin – Steve – there's someone here I'd like you to meet…."

Barkin nodded to Kim, squinted menacingly at Ron, and turned and walked off with Roy, Liz Hunter trailing just behind.

"Well. That was weird," Kim said to Ron, taking her place beside him on the couch and absently sipping from her highball.

"Uh, yeah, KP. We just had drinks with Steve Barkin. Who is a member of Congress. And laughs." Ron's face grew thoughtful. "Are we just sharing a dream again?" He reconsidered. "Or a nightmare."

"Dunno, Ron. Maybe." She held up her glass and examined it. "But if we are asleep, well, I'm going to dream about another drink. Join me?"

III.

Kim and Ron stood by the CG's door, saying farewell to the last stragglers from the reception. The apartment had mostly emptied out, save for a handful of guests, the consulate staff (required by protocol to remain until the guests were gone), and the caterers.

The CG sauntered over to where Kim and Ron were standing.

"What did you think of the party?"

"I-" Kim began.

"Good one, Mr. R," interrupted Ron. "But can't you do something about the wine? All these great Australian and New Zealand labels available, and," waving the glass in his hand, "you're pouring _this_ plonk."

Kim's shook her head imperceptibly and resignedly. _Ron!_

The CG smiled. "I heartily agree, Ronald. But you know the rules for someone in my position – gotta promote the American products." He rubbed his chin. "You're right, of course; plenty of decent American wines to choose from. I'd welcome your working with my house staff on the selection – as long as you can stay within the budget."

"You got it, Mr. R. It'd be an honor. And a pleasure. Uh, in other words, a plonor."

"Oh no, Ronald, the plonor's all mine."

The CG shifted a moment and took a quick look around the room, eyeing the other officers and last guests gathered by the bar, where they were working on the open bottles and polishing off the remaining hors d'oeuvres.

Something about his demeanor made Kim's nerves jangle. _Ok, what's the sitch?_

"Well, thanks again for coming tonight," continued the CG, suddenly nonchalant. "Oh, and Kim – I think this must have fallen out of your bag at the office. Good idea, carrying one of these, just in case the power goes out when you're working late. But you really should be more _careful_ in future – wouldn't want to lose it, eh?"

He reached out and placed a familiar penlight in Kim's hand.

Kim just stared at it. The CG, noting her hesitation, took her hand for a moment and closed her fingers around it.

Kim stood there for a moment, frozen. With a supreme effort of will she calmly placed the flashlight in her handbag.

"Thanks. Sir. Thanks very much. You're right. I really should be more careful. I will be."

For the _n_th time that evening she and Ron exchanged glances.

_Whoa._

"You're welcome. You've got potentially a bright career ahead of you, Kim. With or without the flashlight." The CG ran his hand through his thinning hair, as if embarrassed by the weak gag, then rubbed his forehead for a moment before glancing around the room. "You two can go ahead on home. This party is definitely over."

Kim and Ron nodded their farewells to the CG, waved a quick goodbye to her colleagues at the bar, and headed out into the hallway without another word.

IV.

They taxied home in silence.

V.

Ron could hear Kim brushing her teeth in the master bathroom as he disrobed. He had been thinking too much all the way home and his head hurt. For now he just wanted to take his brain off the hook, so he talked himself through the evening ritual.

_Shoe trees in shoes. Socks in hamper. Hang up pants. Hang up belt. Check shirt collar. Still good? Hang up in closet. Jacket –_

He picked the jacket up from the bed where he'd tossed it when they came in. He began emptying out the pockets. _Wallet on dresser. Plug cellphone into charger. Wait. What's this?_

His hand emerged holding a thick, embossed business card printed on high-quality stock. Ron stared at it a moment. _Hecksher Hotel, Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi._

He idly flipped the card over a few times between his fingers and then set it on top of the dresser next to his wallet. He tried determinedly not to think about anything as he went into the bathroom to brush his own teeth.

A few moments later he and Kim were sitting side by side in the bed. They looked at each other, each trying to make sense of the evening's weirdness.

"I'm sorry—" they began simultaneously.

"Jinx! You owe me a soda!" Kim said, reflexively, then smiled. "Or a glass of American plonk, maybe."

"Come here," Ron replied, lying back in the bed and putting his arm around his BFW, who rested her head on his chest. He paused, then said, "My feelings were pretty hurt about being left out. But that doesn't mean I should've gone sneaking in there without telling you." He thought for a second. "Are you mad at me about the flashlight?"

Kim looked up at him. "No, Ron. Sure, that whole sitch could've been a master disaster. But I was the one taking a stupid risk, poking around on my own."

She sighed deeply and glanced away. "I'm sorry I got so mad at you that night." She looked back up at him. "And even if something had gone wrong – well, we'd've just figured it out, like we always have."

"Besides," she continued, "it's not like my snooping got us anywhere. We didn't find _anything._"

Ron stared down at her. "Uh, well, KP, that's not exactly the case."

"What?"

"Uh, I might've found a, you know, clue. That night. While you were fighting Shego."

"What?!" Kim was sitting bolt upright.

Ron tried to read her expression. _Thank god, she just looks astonished, not tweaked._

"Ok, Stoppable. Spill."

"Why don't I just show you, KP."

Ron padded over to the bureau and reached under a stack of t-shirts to pull out the two microfiche cards he had lifted from the Consulate the previous weekend.

"I grabbed these from the filing cabinet that Shego broke into. She must've grabbed the card, or I guess maybe cards, between them." He presented them to Kim with a flourish.

"Ron!" Kim looked shocked. "Are you telling me that you stole government property that could possibly be material evidence in an ongoing international investigation?"

Ron's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no sound appeared to emerge. (A truly attentive listener might have picked up a faint "eep.")

Then Kim smiled slyly. "I'm just playin' ya, Ron. How many girls can say that their husband has obstructed justice on their behalf? It's terribly flattering."

Ron collapsed back onto the bed. "KP! Shhhh! They could be listening!"

Kim frowned. "They? What they?"

"You know…._They_! Them! The man! The Illuminati! GJ! Carnivore! Echelon! The Reds! The FBI! The CIA!" He wagged a finger at Kim. "And I'm not talking the Culinary Institute of America!"

Kim looked at him.

"Uh-huh. But you were going to outwit _them _by stashing these" – she waved the microfiche at him – "in your underwear drawer?"

She leaned in and gave him a little kiss on the cheek.

"Now shush and let's look at them. Not _your_ them I mean. These. Ugh, whatever."

She peered at the microfiche but quickly realized the futility.

"There's no way to see what these are about without the reader. But we can just cross-reference them with the Consulate's database and find out what files were on the card in between."

She thought for a moment, letting her eyes rest on the darkened window, through which the lights of Saigon flickered.

"And we don't even really need to worry about obstructing the investigation. GJ probably just thinks that Shego swiped all three cards – they'll be able to reconstruct the missing data too."

She looked back at Ron, and found him looking at her, a smile on the corners of his mouth.

"What?" She suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.

"Kinda fun, huh? A real mystery. With Shego. Which probably means Drakken, too. And some kinda take-over-the-world plot. Sure beats the visa line, eh?"

Kim nodded and set the cards down on the bedside. "Well, yeah, sure it's kind of fun. But also majorly inconvenient." She looked thoughtfully at Ron. "And a little weird. It's not that I haven't really been missing the world-saving. But… while it feels good, kinda, like putting on a favorite piece of clothing or listening to a favorite CD, I don't know… it also feels kind of … stale. Are Shego and Drakken _really_ going to try again? Are you and I _really_ going to ride to the rescue?"

"And then what? Maybe the Foreign Service isn't the dream job. But it's real. Is the alternative just saving the world over and over again until we're too old to fight? And _then_ what?"

Ron smiled at her. "Well, we could just turn this case over to the tweebs right now, you know. They'll have our backs." He thought for a moment. "Then they can hire us as consultants for six-figure salaries."

"Maybe we _should_ just ask the tweebs to handle this one," Kim replied. "I don't know. I feel like this is sort of personal, though…."

"Or we could just call Betty," Ron replied.

"Betty who?" Kim was already lost in thinking about the next steps.

"Oh, how quickly they forget! Hello-o?! Doctor Director? Umm, you do remember a little something from when we used to save the world, right?"

"Ron. We agreed we weren't going to do that."

There had been a lot of pressure, when Kim decided to join the Foreign Service, to cash in the chits she had earned over the years. Most of their peers, and even some of their relatives, were astonished that she would take an entry-level job when a few phone calls could guarantee her a plum spot just about anywhere.

Ron, of course, had not been astonished at all. Kim Possible take a shortcut to the top? Make a personal profit off of her history of helping people? No way. Cheat codes were for Stoppables, not Possibles.

"Kim – this isn't about getting ahead. While I still think it could just be coincidence that Shego's here, Betty'll understand why you couldn't just ignore it. You know she'd take the microfiche, no questions asked, and nobody at State would be any the wiser that we – I – took them in the first place."

Kim considered the idea. "Hm. I have to admit, you've got a good point. I wouldn't be asking her to give me any extra edge – just to, I guess, put things back in balance." She contemplated her husband. "You know, Ron, that was very responsible thinking just now."

He cocked an eyebrow back. "Oh? You want me to say it again while falling out of an air vent?"

Kim suddenly felt guilty. Had she abruptly re-injured his bruised feelings?

But when she looked at him again she could see him smiling again.

"Now who's gettin' played?" he asked, smirking.

"Just turn out the light, ok, Mr. Smarty Mart Smarty Pants! Let's sleep on it."

Ron reached over with his free hand (the other once again around Kim, who yawned widely) and switched off the lamp.

"Just sleep?"

"Why Ronald! Did you have something else in mind?"

"Well, as a matter of fact I did. And it would be my plonor to share my thinking with you…"

VI.

Kim and Ron sat in the back seat of the Chevy Suburban as it bounced along Highway One, southbound from Saigon towards the Mekong delta. The Ambassador was riding in another Suburban up ahead with the three members of the Congressional delegation, while she and Ron, along with Ms. Vy, the Consulate's local economic specialist, were bringing up the rear.

Kim was psyched that Ron had decided to take advantage of the extra space in her vehicle to come along on this first trip for either of them down to the delta. He couldn't accompany her and the Congressmen on their official visits, of course, but he could certainly lounge by the pool at their hotel in Can Tho and keep her company for the two evenings of the trip.

She watched the landscape glide by out the window. Bright green rice paddy extended in every direction, as far as the eye could see, except for the occasional karst outcropping or unexpected copse of trees in the distance. Men and women in conical hats led water buffaloes through the paddies while enormous dragonflies darted back and forth, their wings shimmering in the late-morning sun.

The scene was marred only by the telephone and electrical poles that marched along the roadside, their wires festooned with frisbee-sized… wait a minute…

_Uh-oh. _

_Please don't let Ron notice. Please don't let Ron notice. Please please please please…_

"Pretty scenery, huh Kim?" Ron's voice broke through her incantation.

"Oh. Oh yes! Very pretty!" _Has he noticed?_

"I love how they've decorated the telephone wires with all those stars."

_Double uh-oh. He noticed._

"Yeah, Ron. Stars. Hey. Why don't you look at me and we can talk?"

But Ron was still captivated by the scene outside.

"They're kinda funny-looking stars, though. Why only four points? ….Oh, no, wait a minute, now I see the other points…eight-pointed stars… well, they must have their reasons…and _so many_ of them-"

He broke off suddenly.

_Uh-oh cubed._

"K-K-Kim…."

"I know, Ron." She reached over and _very_ carefully put her hand on his.

He jerked his hand back and began to shiver.

"K-K-KIM!"

"It's ok, Ron…"

"B-b-b-big…"

"Yes. They're very big."

"B-b-big b-b-bugs…"

"Well, technically they're arachnids, you know."

Ron turned to her, his face displaying indescribable horror. "Power-line spiders, Kim! The size of...dinner plates! Giant mutant spiders. What, do they feed off the electricity? What hell have you brought me to!?"

Miss Vy, riding shotgun next to the driver, smiled to herself. Ron was well-known around the Consulate for his …energetic…personality.

"They're just normal spiders, Anh Ron," Vy said. "You don't have to worry about them."

_Thank god, _Kim thought. _A voice of reason._

"I might not _have_ to, Vy, but you can bet I _will_!"

"They won't come down from the power lines," she continued.

"You say that now – but wait until the dead of night when they start their blood-sucking invasion!"

"Really, anh oi. They won't come down. They're afraid of the geckoes. The geckoes will eat them. So they just stay up there and eat the dragonflies. That's why they're big. Not the electricity."

"So what you're saying is, all that stands between me and an army of mutant spiders are some tiny sticky-toed lizards?"

And so it went, all the way down to Can Tho, except for those stretches when Ron just stared out the window in horrified silence.

VII.

The weekend itself passed in a blur of work and play.

The delegation was primarily interested in visiting catfish and shrimp farms, theoretically investigating the degree to which the government subsidized these industries.

But there was plenty of time for side trips. Kim accompanied them to a small rice paper factory, where the translucent rounds laying drying in the sun on bamboo racks.

Later they saw a banana candy business, the sweet smell of fruit mingling with that of sesame paste as an entire extended family worked together in mixing and packaging the sticky treats under the watchful gaze of the deceased grand-father, whose picture, set among candles, incense sticks, and baskets of fresh fruit, presided over the affair from a small altar mounted on the wall.

Then there was a visit to an enormous orchard redolent with the scent of custard apple, guava, sapodilla and rambutan.

And finally, a trip to the famous Cai Rang market, where innumerable tiny boats flogged their wares – mountains of tropical fruits and fresh vegetables, prepared meals and soft drinks, smuggled cigarettes and rice wine – in a floating free-for-all.

The two evenings at the hotel – where Ron was basically holed up, marinating by the pool, playing endless rounds of billiards with the under-utilized hotel staff, and trying to avoid thinking about the spiders - were pleasant. A quick dip for the couple, followed by drinks under the ceiling fans of the open-air bar, then dinner of succulent delta fish.

There was one unpleasant moment when Ron, not thinking, made the mistake of discussing with the waiter the seasonal specialty – field mouse. The fallout from Rufus' response required much iodine and several ice packs for Ron. For the naked mole rat there were numerous plates of cheese and shrimp chips to assuage his anger over his owner's cavalier attitude towards Rufus' rodent brethren.

Sooner than they had imagined it was Sunday and time to return to Ho Chi Minh City. They had set back out from the hotel in the Suburbans, anticipating arrival in the city before nightfall. However, they had found themselves creeping along behind a steady stream of trucks bringing agricultural products in to the city markets and they were still deep in the delta as the daylight began to dim.

_What now?_ thought Kim as the two-car convoy suddenly ground to a halt. She heard their driver's sudden intake of breath and peered forward through the windshield.

And could not believe her eyes.

Nor could Ron believe his.

"KIM!" he cried out in horror and disbelief.

There, before them, astride the road, was Ron's worst nightmare (other than that of accidentally consuming Rufus) come to life.

An enormous – easily eight foot tall – spider, with at least two or three others visible behind it.

Their driver threw the car into reverse and, gravel spitting from under the wheels, attempted to back up. Without warning the lead spider sprayed the hood with what looked like fluid but was of course spider silk, effectively stopping them in their tracks.

A voice rang out through the twilight.

"Don't bother trying to ethscape!"

_Why is that voice familiar?, _thought Ron._ Something about the lisp…_

"You may have defeated my giant cock-a-roaches, but you will find my arachnid minions much fiercer foes!"

And there, striding out from between the eight-legged monstrosities, was a distantly remembered figure – the pompadour with just a bit more gray, but the blue-tinted goggles and buck teeth right out of the past.

Kim, frozen in terror at the sight of these _really_ big bugs, just gaped. Ron looked at his petrified wife, then back at the figure confronting them through the windshield.

_Chester Yapsby?_


	8. Escalation

Been a while since I last updated! Sorry about that, and thanks to my loyal readers and reviewers: CajunBear73, Campy, cpneb, Danny-171984, Drakonis Aurous, Final-Fan, mkusenagi2, MrDrP, Ran Hakubi, RobinofYJ, Samurai Crunchbird, Sir Sebastian, and spectre666. And to Limby – hard to believe you're prepared to suffer terminal eyestrain on my account, but I do appreciate it.

And of course, thanks so much to my beta reader, who truly _is_ the _Ultimate_ Naco Topping. (Which begs the question – is there a penultimate naco topping?)

One author's note, because it's been raised by a couple of folks: Kim is still Kim _Possible_, not Kim Stoppable, despite now being married to Ron. I don't believe she would change her name because being a "Possible," for whom "anything is," is such a big part of her identity, after all. (See my story "What's In a Name?" for how this played out in the DIA universe.)

Disney owns Kim Possible.

* * *

**Chapter VIII**

**Escalation**

The lead Suburban, with the Ambassador and Congressmen in it, sat a few yards ahead and off to the side. Terrified expressions on the faces of the passengers were visible through the windows.

Kim and Ron stared out the windshield of their Suburban. Their driver and Miss Vy turned to them with looks that somehow combined horror with a quizzical 'you know this guy?'

The monstrous spiders stood unmoving behind Yapsby as he approached Ron and Kim's car. He stopped a few meters away.

"Finally! My old nemesis Kim Possible!" Yapsby snickered. "Show yourself!"

Ron looked over at Kim, who sat stupefied, only her mouth moving. It didn't take Ron long to figure out what she was repeating under her breath.

"_B-b-big b-b-bugs… b-b-big b-b-bugs…_," Kim stuttered.

_Why aren't I paralyzed with fear too? _he wondered. _Maybe I worked out the spilly willies with the smaller power-line spiders on the way down. _

He looked back at where Yapsby was standing with his eight-legged forces behind him.

"Ha! Are you afraid to come out and face your arch-foe?" Yapsby said.

Although nearly overcome with horror, Ron couldn't let that go. _Yapsby's a ranter, that's for sure. Maybe I can buy a little time. It's always worked before…_

Ron quickly glanced down at Rufus, who was peering up from his pocket. "See if you can get something started, buddy."

Cursing himself for the poor judgment that he consistently displayed by doing this kind of thing, he opened the door and stepped out. The naked mole rat leapt from his pocket and scuttled quickly under the vehicle.

"Dude…. Arch-foe?" Ron responded, shaking his head. "We busted you in like 11 minutes and never heard from you again. One weak-assed encounter does not a nemesis make."

"Do not mock me!" cried the crazed entomologist, shaking his fists. "You defeated me once, and I don't know how you found me again, but now I am ready for you."

"How _we _found _you? _Who's car-jacking who out here? We're just passing through, and here you are, with your modified Reflux or whatever, and some more big bugs, and now you're going to have your revenge."

Ron wondered if his false bravado was even remotely convincing. He couldn't take his eyes off those enormous mandibles. _I wonder if they study cockroach as a second language? _Then he had another thought. _Better not go there. They probably __**eat**__ cockroach for a second course._

The well-honed buffoonery seemed to be working because Chester continued ranting.

"The Roflax? That toy? Hardly. Professor Acari was just a tinkerer. I created my spiders with this!"

Yapsby brandished a small, shiny object which looked distinctly like a Space Passage phased energy rectification device.

"My growth ray…! Well, not _entirely_ mine. I heard about it from a prison roommate – who had heard tell of it from a former roommate of _his. _Something about a giant poodle…," Yapsby paused, looking momentarily lost. Then he seemed to remember his purpose and his gaze snapped back to Ron. "I've spent years refining the technology and miniaturizing it. And this is the result!" He waved the device triumphantly.

Ron put on his most skeptical face. "Dude – Chet, can I call you Chet? – you've got a tool like that and you used it to make _mutant spiders? _I mean, c'mon! Why not, I don't know, something useful. Like giant wheat. Or habaneros. Or, you know, something not totally nasty?"

The blonde continued playing for time, trying to figure out how to shake Kim out of her paralysis and get Team Possible back in the game.

Meanwhile, Yapsby had only picked up on one thing that Ron had said. "No, you may not call me Chet! My name is Chester!"

And then Ron saw his chance.

"Of course, _Chester._ Sorry about that, _Chester, _I forgot we've got to pronounce every syllable just so…."

Yapsby opened his mouth to reply but then paused, nonplussed. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that, I mean, who says 'cock-a-roach,' anyway – other than my grandmother?"

"I don't see what you're getting at," said the villain, squinting from behind his blue lenses.

"Well, I just mean, do you always ride in a vee-_hick_-ul?

"What?" Yapsby's confusion was evident. "Is this more mockery?"

Kim seemed to emerge a bit from her petrification as a perplexed look spread across her face. She slowly turned to look at Ron through the open door. _What are you doing? _she mouthed.

He crooked an eyebrow at her playfully. _Ok, she's coming out of it_.

"And do you always eat your _veg-et-a-bles_?"

"You _are_! You _are_ mocking me!" Yapsby said with dawning realization.

The occupants of the other car stared in increasing terror, mingled with confusion, as Ron continued his efforts to work the mad scientist into a rage. Barkin was watching Ron's antics carefully, but his expression was unreadable.

"Or do you need to put _wor-cest-er-shire_ sauce on them?" Ron asked, almost casually.

Kim grinned as she realized what was going on. _Just like old times. _She popped open her door and stepped out to join in the fun.

"You know, Ron, that's a good point. Perhaps he eats them with _cat-sup_ instead…"

"On _Wed-nes-days!" _interrupted Ron. "In _Feb-ru-ary!"_

"Hmmm…." Kim looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled playfully. "Chester, were you an _ath-a-lete_ in school?"

"Why you…," sputtered Yapsby indignantly. "You may laugh now, but soon cities will quail before my arachnid army! Today, An Giang province. Tomorrow, Tien Giang!"

"Still thinking big, I see," Kim said, voice full of disdain. "Besides, don't you mean _arach-a-nid_?

At that moment, a small pink figure shot out from behind a pile of gravel. Rufus, who had been stealthily working his way towards Yapsby, launched himself towards the distracted scientist and slammed into his fist. Completely surprised, Yapsby lost his grip on the growth ray, which flew into the air and landed at his feet. Quick as a flash, Rufus snatched it up and dashed off the road into the gloom.

Yapsby's rage finally boiled over.

"Enough chit-chat! While I enjoy a good rant as much as the next mad scientist, the time has come for my revenge. In a few moments you'll just be dried-up husks blowing off across the delta, and my march of conquest will have begun!"

With that, he began to work his jaw producing a series of spine-chilling clicks and pops. From behind him, the giant spiders began to stride forward. Yapsby clicked again and the lead spider…

Knelt down.

Yapsby climbed up onto the beast's thorax and sneered down at Team Possible, who gazed on, seriously creeped out.

"That's right! I'm a scientist!" Yapsby continued. "Not like those other lunatics you defeated time after time. I study my failed projects, correct them, and try again! I examined what happened the last time we met – and I've spent several years learning how to talk spider!"

Another series of hair-raising clicks and pops emerged, somehow, from his vocal cords. Immediately the three spiders moved forward, enormous mandibles clicking.

"Ron!" Kim shouted. "Get Barkin and the Ambassador to safety!"

_Why not_, thought Ron. _One way or another, these things usually work out…_

He dashed across the road, weaving and dodging, trying to reach the other Suburban. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kim running towards Yapsby, who was barking – well, _clicking_ - orders to the spiders.

Ron made it to the side of the Suburban and looked in to see Barkin glaring back at him.

_What'd I do? _Ron thought to himself as he tugged on the handle. The door opened an inch or two until Barkin's hand shot out and grabbed the inside handle, stopping the motion.

"What do you think you're doing, Stoppable," hissed the Congressman through the crack. His tone made it clear he was not really asking a question.

"Getting you out of there, Mr. B! No time for chit-chat!"

"That's Congressman B., Stoppable. Look around. This is an armored vehicle. What makes you think we're safer _outside? _You've got an Ambassador in here!_"_

"Uhhh…I guess you've got a point." Through the gloom Ron could just make out Ambassador Marks sitting next to Barkin. Concern was evident on her face, but it shared space with curiosity. Suddenly, Barkin's gaze shifted over Ron's shoulder, his eyes widened, and he tugged the door closed.

_Uh-oh, _thought Ron, _out of time. _He dropped to the ground and rolled under the car. From that vantage point, he could see eight hairy legs loping up to the suburban. He shuddered and contemplated his next move.

Suddenly inspiration struck.

_Pants were gonna fall down anyway,_ he thought, as he rolled onto his back and whipped off his belt. The titanium reinforcement had come in handy on more than one previous occasion. _Maybe this time, too._

The hideous monster spider was right up against the side of the Suburban, slamming against it in an effort to get at Ron, and as a consequence, pushing the car slowly to the edge of the road. Belt in hand, Ron waited for the right moment, and suddenly snapped out at one of the legs. A direct hit! The belt wrapped around the leg and Ron instantly rolled onto his side, straining with all his might, forcing the bottom of the leg against the bottom of the car.

_I broke a state-of-the-art military transport train with this – I can sure as hell break -_

With a sickening crunch, the spider's leg snapped in two where it had been under the most pressure. The monster emitted a hair-raising string of clicks and stumbled slightly, bringing another leg in reach of Ron. Quickly, he snapped the belt to unwind it from the first leg and repeated the operation on the second successfully. He got a third leg, and the beast suddenly skittered away from the vehicle.

Ron rolled out from under the other side of the Suburban to get the lay of the land. Peeking over the hood (and threading his belt back through his pants), he could see that 'his' spider – struggling to walk without the use of three of its legs – had retreated to the middle of the road, where it curled up around itself.

Two other spiders – including the one on which Yapsby was riding - approached the injured one. The unmanned spider suddenly pounced on its injured twin, while Yapsby appeared to be struggling to restrain the one on which he was mounted.

_Ugh. They're going to eat it! Not exactly comrades-in-arms, _Ron thought, watching the spider-on-spider carnage unfold.

He peeped into the Suburban to see how the passengers were faring and saw that Barkin had somehow worked himself into the driver's seat. The window closest to Ron rolled down a few inches and Barkin bellowed through it.

"You know how we killed bugs in the old days, Stoppable?"

"Uh…, DDT! You know, along with the California condors and stuff?"

Barkin's face went slack for an instant before he set his jaw and growled, "Hit 'em with a big stick."

He looked over his right shoulder towards the passengers and shouted, "Buckle up!" Then, glaring at Ron, he bellowed, "STAND BACK!"

The educator-turned-congressman twisted the key in the ignition and jammed his foot down on the accelerator as Ron leapt backwards. Tires spinning and gravel flying, the car sped forward, took a sharp right, and headed over and down the earthen berm which marked the side of the road.

_What's he doing? He's gonna drive right into the paddy!_

But Barkin stopped just short of the water's edge, spun the Suburban around, and gunned the motor. The car practically flew up the bank to the roadway.

And drove straight into the nearest light pole.

The pole was no match for the half-ton vehicle. The Chevy vibrated with the impact – Ron saw the airbag explode, obscuring Barkin from sight – but the light pole broke in two immediately, sparks flying from it as the wires on other side snapped.

_Geronimo_, thought Ron, giving a low whistle and admiring Barkin's mastery of trajectory. The pole crashed down right on top of the injured spider, catching the one consuming it as well.

"Nice one Congressman B.!" shouted Ron as he ran up to the Suburban, avoiding loose power lines. Glancing through the window he could see that Barkin was out, with a bloody nose, but the passengers, while clearly shaken, were conscious.

_Time for them later_. Ron looked back to check on Kim, Yapsby, and the other spiders. _How many left?_

He could see Yapsby had dismounted from his spider, shock on his face and spider guts all over his clothes from the backsplash. The scientist stared at the damage done to his forces, then looked over at Ron.

Their eyes locked. Suddenly Yapsby recovered his focus, pointed at Ron, and began screaming.

"Why, you...you...insecticide!"

_Wish I were,_ thought Ron. _A little TEPP wouldn't hurt. But where's Kim?_

Quickly he scanned the surroundings, looking for a spider vs. girl confrontation playing out somewhere. Instead, he saw another giant sitting on top of the other Suburban. It didn't seem to be doing much of anything, though, other than heaving itself up and down on top. Looking more closely he realized that four of its legs were trapped in the side windows of the car. Somehow, Kim had managed to trick it into reaching its legs into the car and had closed the windows on them. The car vibrated with the force of the blows from the giant abdomen as the monster struggled to free itself - but the reinforced steel and bulletproof glass seemed to be holding up. For the moment…

Ron couldn't see Kim in the car, but the back hatch was open. She must have climbed out after trapping the beast.

Widening the scope of his view, he counted four spiders in the immediate vicinity - the two which Barkin had crushed, Kim's hood ornament, and Yapsby's former mount which was...ugh... cannibalizing the two injured. Yapsby stood, 'screaming' at it, apparently in an effort to get it to attack the humans. So far, however, animal instinct was overpowering his instructions.

_But where was Kim?_ Ron thought._ And how many more spiders were there?_

Suddenly, Ron saw a flash of movement as Kim emerged from behind the other Suburban and dashed towards Yapsby, who was completely absorbed in trying to regain control of what was left of his forces.

And then Ron witnessed the most horrifying scene of his life.

Yapsby stood hollering at the giant spider, which was devouring its two fallen comrades, Kim heading at him outside his field of vision. Abruptly, the scientist moved as if to interpose himself between the spider and its meal and laid a hand on one of its legs while continuing to shriek at it in 'spider' language.

In an instant, Yapsby was on the ground, pinned by the beast's two front legs. Whether because of the physical contact or its perception that Yapsby had become an obstruction, the spider suddenly turned on its master.

Kim, about to launch into a flying tackle of either Yapsby or the spider, stopped short and scrambled back a few paces to take the measure of the situation.

Ron could hear Yapsby's scream of rage suddenly become one of panic but could only watch in horror as the spider, quick as a flash, sank its mandibles into Yapsby's chest.

Yapsby's screams were suddenly cut off in a gurgle. His body spasmed and jerked until the paralytics in the spider's venom kicked in and he grew still.

_Wait. What?_

Ron's knees wobbled and he felt like he might throw up.

_Did that spider just... kill... Yapsby?_

He couldn't believe it and just stood, staring.

Team Possible had been in plenty of tight spots before, and had dealt out and received a lot of hurt over the years. Yet somehow they had always managed to get out of the sitch and nail the bad guys without serious injury befalling anyone.

Until now.

Ron couldn't take his eyes off Yapsby's body, lying in the middle of the road. It was unmistakable. Even Ron's rudimentary emergency medical training told him that the damage to Yapsby's chest cavity was not survivable.

Ron's horror increased as the spider began wrapping Yapsby in silk. _Just like a scene from a nature movie._ _Except in the documentaries it's a fly, not a person!_

With that thought Ron gave in to his heaving stomach and fell to his hands and knees, vomiting violenty on the roadway.

_No! No! Can't do this now! _he thought, and struggled to keep his head up and his eyes open. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced around. He could see, in the deepening gloom, at least a half-dozen reinforcements loping towards them from down the road.

_What now, what now? _thought Ron as he stood back up despite feeling terribly dizzy. He put his hand on his temple, trying to recover from what he had just seen and stay focused on survival. _'Cuz I guess we're really playing for keeps. _

Kim stood across the road, near the other Suburban but far enough from it to be out of reach of the giant spider still trapped on it. She looked as sick and confused and wobbly as he felt, and he thought he could see the remains of _her_ lunch splattered on the road. Their eyes met in a look of shared horror and they stared at each other, unblinking, for a moment, the same thought in both their heads:

_Did that really just happen? _

A quick glance at the carnage answered that question with a very definitive yes and another wave of nausea. As he struggled to hold it together, a new thought occurred to Ron. Without a human mind in control, what would the spiders do?

That thought prompted Ron to reassess the situation. _Stay focused... _Just behind him and to the right was the lead Suburban, damaged and with passengers - including the U.S. Ambassador and several members of Congress - who definitely needed medical attention. Across the way was the other Suburban, immobilized by spider silk and the physical bulk of the monster still struggling on top of it.

In the distance, the creepy cavalry drew closer…

_Where's _my _cavalry_, thought Ron, stomach threatening to betray him again, as he looked around for anything else that might make an improvised anti-arachnid weapon.

Suddenly he felt something.

A faint vibration through the ground.

He looked around, trying to identify the source, and felt it again.

It wasn't the spiders. They had all stopped in their tracks.

Again he felt it. Definitely getting closer and quickening in pace.

Everything was still and quiet, except the growing vibrations.

The hair on the back of Ron's neck began to rise, yet again. _I've seen this movie…_

Suddenly, a squeaky "BOOYAH!" tore through the air. Ron frowned at the unauthorized use of his battle-cry and looked around to see a different kind of monster emerging from the darkness left where the toppled light pole had been.

A giant lizard looming over the roadway!

With Rufus riding on its head!

The naked mole rat gave Ron a thumbs-up and leapt into a graceful swan dive, landing in Ron's outstretched hands. He held Yapsby's growth ray in his claws and presented it to Ron with a "Ta-Da!"

In a flash, the giant gecko – not at all fazed at having just been 'grown' to roughly the size of a 727 - stepped right over Ron and began its evening meal.

The spider trapped on Kim's car shrieked, slamming itself up and down in a panicked effort to escape, its free legs flailing in an ineffectual frenzy. The gecko barreled down on it and swallowed the horrifying creature in one gulp – leaving four amputated legs still stuck in the windows of the car.

The other spiders began to scatter in all directions, but cover was pretty thin amidst the rice paddies. The gecko, an experienced night predator, bounded after them, snapping up one, then another, eventually vanishing into the darkness beyond the pools of illumination cast by the remaining light poles.

"Good one, buddy. Just in the nick of time," Ron said, relieved.

Rufus, not having seen Yapsby's gruesome end, held out his little paw for a high five, but Ron, still shocked, simply tucked the growth ray-gun into his pants pocket.

Ron's eyes flicked briefly to the silk-wrapped package in the road that had been Yapsby. Then he looked toward Kim. They stared across the road at each other for a moment before, as if by mutual agreement, turning back to the cars nearest them to tend to the passengers.


	9. Intervention

It's good to be back! Thanks to Balrog60, BlueEyedBrigadier, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, Drakonis Aurous, Dr.Beard, The Enduring Man-Child, MrDrP, Ran Hakubi, and Samurai Crunchbird for the reviews.

And thanks, of course, to Ultimate Naco Topping, for beta-licious editing and advising. Though I'd rather you were writing, UNT...

Kim Possible and ancillary characters (C) Disney.

P.S. Are you reading Mr. Wizard's _Way Too Old School? _If not, then get to it!

* * *

_Ron's eyes flicked briefly to the silk-wrapped package in the road that had been Yapsby. Then he looked toward Kim. They stared across the road at each other for a moment before, as if by mutual agreement, turning back to the cars nearest them to tend to the passengers._

**Chapter IX**

**Intervention**

I.

Exhausted, Ron sat back against the side of the Suburban, legs stretched out in front of him. Kim sat just to his right, identically positioned. With the adrenalin from the battle worn off, neither had energy to do anything other than simply lay there, staring at the man-shaped and -sized silk-wrapped parcel in the middle of the road. Rufus sat on Ron's leg, peering worriedly at his friend's face.

The other members of the traveling party stood a few meters away, the Congressmen and their aides muttering in English while the Vietnamese staff huddled together and whispered to each other. Ambassador Marks was on her cell phone, supplying information and barking instructions to the chief security officer in Hanoi.

Meanwhile, the eyes of every one of them were trained on the three prone figures: Kim and Ron, and what was left of Chester Yapsby.

After the gecko had disappeared into the darkness, Kim and Ron had held it together long enough to check on the other members of the convoy and treat injuries. Most had bumps and cuts of one kind or another. Barkin was going to be pretty bruised up from taking the airbag in the face, but none were seriously injured.

All were shaken, though – and not just physically. Being attacked by a mad scientist and his squad of mutant spiders was shocking enough; and even Ron and Kim, who faced similar sitches with regularity, found themselves stunned by the way this one had ended.

Ron, his mind blank, stared emptily at the middle of the road. He couldn't take his eyes off of Yapsby.

_Oh man…_

Ron put a hand to his head, rubbing his temples with his fingers, firmly refusing to process what he saw before him. After a moment, a thought forced its way into his head.

_How's Kim doing?_

He looked at his wife, who was staring at the corpse with the same empty expression that he knew had been on his own face a moment ago.

"Kim?" he asked hesitantly.

She slowly turned toward him, keeping her eyes on the body most of the way, as if she was afraid to look away. When her gaze came to rest on his face, he could see that her normally sparkling eyes were dull and blank in the light of the remaining streetlights.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Ron immediately felt like an idiot, because of course she was okay, and of course she wasn't. Neither of them was physically injured but if she felt on the inside anything like he did, she wasn't okay at all.

"I…, I don't know," she began. "I _feel_ okay. I mean, I'm not hurt. But…, I mean…, Yapsby's _dead._ That's never happened before…" She trailed off, and she resumed staring at the body.

Ron couldn't think of anything to say.

"I mean… that's…how could that happen?" Kim asked.

Ron didn't have an answer, and so they lapsed into silence again.

"Stoppable. Possible."

The deep voice startled them out of their trances. They looked up to see Barkin looming above them, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. Rufus scuttled into Ron's pocket, from which he peeked out warily.

Ron somehow felt a little bit better. There was something reassuring about Barkin's size and solidity and familiarity. That voice, which normally would have given him the heebie-jeebies, was almost comforting.

_Wow. I'm happy to see Mr. Barkin,_ Ron thought. _Go figure_.

"Good work back there," Barkin said, crouching down and peering at them.

The two looked back at him.

Kim was the first to respond, confusion written all over her face. "Good? Good…!? You can't be serious, Mr. B."

Barkin's eyes settled on Kim. Ron sensed what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth.

"Note serious face, Possible," Barkin said, brow furrowed. "You saved a lot of people today." He waved a meaty hand at the others, who were still talking quietly and trying to pretend that they weren't closely watching the interaction between the Congressman and his two constituents. "That maniac's death was an unfortunate accident – but if it weren't for you, there'd have been a lot more casualties."

Kim's face showed a mix of confusion and indignation.

"Mr. Barkin – Yapsby _died._" She gestured towards the body in the road. "He _died _in front of us. Nobody ever _dies!_"

Her eyes returned to their fix on the corpse. Barkin's eyes narrowed.

"Hells bells and cockleshells, Possible! I don't know how you've been so lucky for so long. Some combination of talent and, yeah, luck and oh, who knows, maybe a guardian angel or two have kept you protected from this until now. But people die. They die in wars. And hold-ups. And in traps set by mad scientists." Barkin reached up to rub his nose, grimaced, and put his hand back down. "Listen to me. You're going to need some time to get over what just happened. But for now, I want you to know: there's a dozen people here who owe their lives to you because of what you just did." He was clearly trying to glare at them, but all his face showed was compassion.

_A compassionate Barkin? _Ron thought. _Now I've seen everything. If this goes on any longer, I'm __**really**__ gonna freak._

"And if that guy Yapsby's dead, it's because he was violating every law of nature. Giant mutant spiders?" Barkin's face now wore an expression of outrage. "You are not responsible for his death," he concluded.

He stood up from his crouch and dusted off one knee where it had dipped into the dirt of the roadway.

"Like I said. You two did good work."

He gazed at them for a moment more, then turned and walked back to the group.

Ron and Kim looked at each other. Ron extended his right hand. Kim grasped it.

"Feel any better?" Ron asked.

"No," replied Kim.

"Me neither….But I guess it was nice of him to say that."

Kim looked at Yapsby's body for an instant, then back at Ron.

"I can't believe he died, Ron. How could he… die?"

Ron knew what Kim was trying to say.

_If it could happen to him, it could've happened to us._

They sat in silence, held hands, and stared at their fallen foe.

Without warning a deep mechanical whine sounded from overhead. Suddenly the roadway and surrounding paddy were bathed in bright light.

Kim and Ron looked skyward and, without surprise, registered three GJ hoverjets in a V above them. The gaggle of Consulate staff and guests gaped, then scattered as the aircraft began descending onto the roadway.

Kim and Ron looked back at each other for another second. Kim raised an eyebrow at Ron. He raised his back and shrugged. Kim proceeded to pick herself up, then helped Ron to his feet.

They stood as the jets powered down and a squad of black-jumpsuited GJ agents with sidearms emerged from each of the trailing craft to set up a perimeter. Once the agents were in place, the hatch on the lead jet folded into itself, and a set of stairs smoothly extended to the ground.

"If it's Will Du," Kim said mildly, "I'm going to sit back down."

To her relief, the familiar eye-patched figure of Dr. Director, bobbed hair now shot with grey, emerged from the jet. An agent stood on either side of her, warily eyeing the surroundings. Dr. Director herself quickly took in the scene from the top of the ramp, casting her glance first on the Congressmen, then on the ruined vehicles, and finally on Kim and Ron.

She strode down the ramp toward the young couple, stopping a few feet short of them, betraying no sign whatsoever of surprise at finding them in the middle of the Mekong delta surrounded by wrecked SUVs and bits of giant spider.

"Kim. Ron." Her good eye looked piercingly at them as she gestured with her left hand at the carnage on the roadway. "Pardon my directness, but what the _hell_ is going on?"

Kim shook her head slightly and sighed. "I don't know, Betty. I was hoping you could tell us."

For the umpteenth time, her eyes slid back to Yapsby's corpse.

II.

Kim and Ron watched from the doorway of Dr. Director's hoverjet as the GJ chief briefly conferred with Ambassador Marks and then gave orders to the squads of agents.

The Ambassador and Dr. Director joined Team Possible on board the lead jet, while the Congressmen, their staffers, and Ms. Vy boarded a second vehicle. The third hoverjet remained with the Consulate drivers and the GJ agents, who took up positions around the site, waiting for Embassy and Vietnamese officials.

The two hoverjets lifted off smoothly and headed northeast.

Dr. Director sat in the copilot's seat immersed in conversation via her headset.

"The gecko is contained? Good job…What? Yes, we have the authority to procure replacement water buffalo. What do you think discretionary funds are _for? _A receipt? How should I know? No, don't shrink it yet, not until we're 100 percent certain we've got all those damn bugs." She shuddered. "And I mean every last one of them."

Ambassador Marks, too, was deep in conversation on her cell phone.

"Yes, Mr. Minister. You have been briefed by your Global Justice liaison?" She suddenly jerked the phone from her ear and screwed up her face at the raised tones emanating from it. "Yes, I am aware that Vietnam is not a signatory, and I cannot of course speak for GJ…yes, yes…I suspect their jurisdiction applies, regardless, because of the nationality of the victim, and of course there is Article Seven on paranormal and mad-science events…One moment please, Mr. Minister…"

She paused long enough to swat at the GJ medic who was trying to take her pulse, mouthing "leave me alone" at him, and then returned to her conversation.

"I am assured that this is purely a temporary measure…the sooner your security and civilian personnel can get to the scene, the sooner GJ can turn it over to you…no, no, I doubt the FBI will be getting involved, the victim isn't a government employee, and from what we've been able to learn, this wasn't a terrorist attack…I understand." She nodded several times. "Yes. I'll be back in Hanoi by mid-day tomorrow. Yes. 12:30. I look forward to it."

"Pssst, Kim," whispered Ron. "If she's on a cell phone while we're in flight, you think it's okay for me to use my iPod?"

Kim looked at him wearily.

"I'm just saying…"

"Actually, not looking forward to it at all…," the Ambassador said to herself after hanging up. She looked up and regarded Kim and Ron in their seats opposite. "You seem to be something of a trouble magnet, Kim."

"Yes, ma'am," Kim sighed. She'd been expecting something like this, but had hoped it might wait. _God, do we have to start already?_

She was genuinely surprised by the next question, however.

"How are you feeling?"

Kim was always respectful of authority – her parents, Officer Hobble, the Dean - but not intimidated by it. For most of her life, even with the great and powerful, she had never tried to be anything other than who she was. Part of her confidence, she supposed, was probably attributable to the fact that she had saved the great and powerful's bacon on so many occasions. Free enough royals and presidents from their captors, you get pretty comfortable around them, start seeing them as ordinary human beings with the same weaknesses, subject to the same emotions.

But this weekend had been her first real encounter with the Ambassador, who had been on vacation when she and Ron had passed through Hanoi for orientation at the Embassy before heading to the Consulate at Ho Chi Minh City. The older woman, with her businesslike demeanor, probing gaze, and air of command, was, indeed, a bit intimidating. Especially given the premium that the State Department put on hierarchy and respect for authority. This woman was, after all, both the President's personal representative to a country of 85 million people, and her boss' boss' boss.

So Kim paused before answering. "Um…"

Marks recognized the hesitation.

"Kim. Please don't try to guess what I want to hear. I'm not quite sure what just happened, but I know it was...extraordinary…and…that I probably owe my life to you. And that we're all in big trouble with the Vietnamese government, and we're going to be working together pretty closely to make sense of this and decide on next steps. So…how are you feeling?"

Kim thought for a moment.

"I…I'm not actually sure, ma'am." She placed a hand on her chest. "I'm definitely physically ok… but… nobody has ever died on my watch, before." Suddenly her eyes flickered over at Ron and then back to Marks, so quickly it was almost undetectable. "So, yeah, I'm not really sure…ma'am," she added hastily.

Marks gave her an appraising look.

"Well, that probably _is_ the right answer. And thank you for your honesty." She looked at her watch and made a face. "Please excuse me while I abase myself some more," she said, and dialed her cell phone again.

Kim nodded absently and leaned back. Ron put an arm around her and she leaned into him and closed her eyes.

III.

Kim woke up as the hoverjet began to set down in the back lot of the Consulate compound in Ho Chi Minh City. She lifted her head and found Ron watching her intently. He gave her a little smile. She didn't feel like smiling– visions of Yapsby's death and images of his body in the middle of the road kept snapping into her brain – but she forced herself to give a little one back.

Ron's gaze at her grew, if anything, more intent. _Well, he didn't buy it,_ she thought. _I should've known better than to try to fool him._

She turned to Dr. Director. "So, should we…meet you here tomorrow morning for the debrief?"

Betty, without warning, cracked a small smile. "No, Kim. I believe Ambassador Marks has seen fit to give you a few days of administrative leave…isn't that right, Sandra?"

Marks nodded from her seat on the opposite side of the hoverjet's bay.

Kim and Ron looked at each other, puzzled, then back to Betty.

Betty continued. "We agreed that, given recent events, it would be better for all concerned if we debriefed you at GJ regional headquarters in Hong Kong. You've got 60 minutes to pack overnight bags and get back here to the consulate."

Kim opened her mouth, closed it, and then focused on Marks. _Am I being punished? Is this one of those forced leaves before they cut me loose? I just saved their LIVES! And watched Yapsby die! AND THEY'RE GOING TO FIRE ME?!_

She was in the process of imposing her will on her voice to keep it from shaking, when Marks spoke.

"No, Kim, this isn't a punishment, and you're not being fired."

Kim closed her mouth again. _How does she do that?_

"I _have _to go back to work. You, on the other hand, after what you just did, and saw – well, you've earned a little down time, and the Consulate will get by without you for a couple of days, I'm sure. You see, I'm going to you in on a little secret. State wants everyone to think they're indispensable so they'll never take a day off. But the reality is: U.S. foreign policy is not going to collapse if you miss three days of work. And remember that, when you're a supervisor." She gave Kim a little wink.

"Not to mention the fact," Marks continued, "that it would probably be best for you to be out of Vietnam while I try to cool them down about what just happened….They'd want to grill you, but they can't complain to me if you're in GJ's hands." She looked at Dr. Director. "Thank goodness for Article Seven of the charter, eh, Betty?"

Dr. Director smiled back.

Kim absolutely did not know what to think._ Time off? Little secrets? When __**I'm**__ a supervisor? Winking? I figured my career was soooo tanked. And now the Ambassador is joking with me? Arghh. So confusing!_

"Well, Betty, good to see you again," said Marks, as she stepped to the door. "I hope next time it's under more pleasant circumstances." She looked back at Kim and Ron, then turned to Betty again. "And take care of these two. We need them back." A faint trace of a smile faded from her face as she nodded sternly at Kim and Ron, then disembarked.

Betty stepped into the cockpit to confer with the pilots, and looked back at Team Possible, who were simply staring at her.

"So? Get with it. Sixty…" and she looked at her watch, "…no, 58 minutes. Better get a move on."

Ron didn't need any further urging.

"Hong Kong?! Boo-yah! C'mon, Kim, let's rock and roll!" He popped up and was immediately snapped back into place by the restraints. He unbuckled himself sheepishly and stood up again, dragging his wife by the arm. "No time! We've got no time!"

He hustled a still-stunned Kim down the ramp and into the waiting Consulate vehicle.

IV.

After quickly ransacking their apartment for essentials - plus wrist Kimmunicator and a few other sundry items - Kim and Ron headed back to the Consulate. At the motor pool they could see the second GJ hovercraft and the members of Congress conferring in the parking lot with Betty Director. As they stepped out of the van, Barkin moved towards them.

"Well, you two, GJ has kindly offered us expedited passage back to CONUS. So it-"

"Koh Nus?" interrupted Ron. "Is that near Koh Samui? Dr. D., how come we have to go to Hong Kong but Rep. B. gets to go to the beach in Thailand?"

"Ron," began Kim, "it's-"

"CONUS, Stoppable," hissed Barkin. "_Con_tinental _U_nited _S_tates," he said, enunciating each syllable, and leaning in so close that Ron could almost feel the Congressman's widow's peak digging into his forehead.

"Oh yeah – _that_ CONUS. Sure…" said Ron.

"As I was saying," continued Barkin. "I'm heading back to Washington. I believe you'll be in good hands with Dr. Director. And if the _desk jockeys_ start trying to push you around_ –_ well, I may be a freshman, but there's a few strings I can still pull." He fixed each member of Team Possible, in turn, with a fierce look, then stuck out a beefy hand.

Ron just stared at it, nonplussed.

"Thank you, Congressman Barkin. We'll stay in touch," Kim said, shaking his hand. She picked up her overnight bag and headed for Dr. Director's hoverjet. "Ron – you coming?"

"Yeah, of course, KP. Just a sec." He watched as Kim boarded the plane, then turned back to Barkin with an unusually serious expression on his face. "Mr. B. Kim's been hit pretty hard by this. And that's _before_ the high muckety-mucks at the State Department have got to her. So, you better be serious about that offer of help."

The former assistant principal and detention monitor raised an eyebrow.

"You have unexpected depth, Ronald Stoppable. When you need something, you call me."

Ron nodded, then broke into a familiar grin.

"Unexpected depth? You know me, Congressman. Master of the delicate art of diplomacy." He glanced at the plane, where Kim stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, waiting for him. "Okay, got some sidekickin' to do. Catch ya on the flip, C.B."

He gave Barkin a quick fist bump, then picked up his overnight bag and strolled to the hoverjet. The Congressman regarded his fist curiously, watched Ron's receding back for a moment, then rejoined his fellows in conversation.

V.

Drakken stood over his workbench, once again scrutinizing some documents. After a few moments a grin started to spread across his face. He straightened up, pulled off the magnifying goggles, stretched luxuriously, and looked around.

"Shego!" he hollered across the lair.

"What?" she groaned from her comfortable perch on the couch.

Drakken walked over.

"I just wanted to commend you, Shego – you succeeded in getting the right microfiche. _This_ time."

She glared at him, but he was too focused on his rant warm-up to notice.

"I have found the information therein quite…illuminating. Now I have all the information I need to move on to Phase II, Stage 1, Step A of my foolproof take-over-the-world plot. Next up: we-"

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Shego interrupted.

"Wha?"

"I mean, just, you know, for my sake, refresh my memory as to why we're doing this?"

Drakken stared at her. Shego shifted on the couch to address him.

"You scheme to take over the world. Miss Priss defeats you. And so on and so on….I'm not saying I'm against it, really, but…are you _sure_ you wouldn't rather just have me steal something extremely valuable, and then we launder the money and live like kings on Ibiza?"

She waved a fashion magazine at him, and hooked a thumb in the direction of the henchmen.

"It would definitely beat sharing a lair with the goons."

Drakken scrutinized her, and rubbed his chin.

"Come now, Shego. We tried going straight after the whole UN thing. What a disaster. The do-gooding! The charity balls! The paparazzi!" His face wrinkled with distaste and he shuddered. "No, thanks very much, I've had about enough of the celebrity ex-villain lifestyle. My whole life, Shego, I've had one goal – taking over the world. And Mama Lipsky didn't raise no quitters!"

Shego sighed.

"Alright. It's your life. I'm just the well-compensated sidekick who can break out of any prison, and what else have I got going on…. So, you gonna let me in on your plan already?"

"You'll see, Shego," said Drakken, his grin widening. "My past efforts may have gone south – but this scheme is going to be da_ bomb!_


	10. Proximity Talks

Looky looky! An update already! I hope you enjoy this and I most definitely value your reactions and reviews. On that note, thanks to BlueEyedBrigadier, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, Drakonis Aurous, The Enduring Man-Child, King in Yellow, MrDrP, noncynic, RobinofYJ, Samurai Crunchbird, screaming phoenix, Sir Sebastian, and spectre666 for reading and sharing their thoughts.

Thank you to Ultimate Naco Topping for the crackerjack beta work.

Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable © Disney.

By the way, if you want some good laughs, go check out newcomer RedBlueGreen - his oneshots do not disappoint.

* * *

Chapter X

Proximity Talks

I.

Kim sat on the edge of the bed, looking through the sheer curtain at the bright lights of Hong Kong. From the bathroom came the sound of Ron gargling. A small smile rose briefly to her lips, but vanished immediately.

Hong Kong was certainly on the list of places she had wanted to visit with Ron while on her assignment in Asia. However, she wished it was as tourists, rather than as _Team Possible_, after being airlifted there by Global Justice from the site of a deadly encounter with an arch-villain.

She sighed deeply and did her best to appreciate the view. The strikingly modern skyscrapers glowed against the night sky, and thousands upon thousands of multi-hued lights shone from every direction - from high-rises across the horizon and from boats playing on the water far below. It was stunning.

It _should_ have been stunning, anyway.

But Kim didn't feel it.

She didn't feel much of anything. Just numb and disconnected, as she had since watching Yapsby die hours earlier at the hand of his own monstrous creation.

She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't keep it out of her head.

There was something so shocking about what had happened. _Of course_ people die, all the time, in many ways: in natural catastrophes and car accidents and alien invasions. She didn't need Barkin to tell her that. But those kinds of things were different. They were impersonal, distant, media events, without a direct connection to her. Kim Possible's sitches involved helping people, recovering stolen artifacts, making things right, preventing disaster. Life or death was never the issue. There was always risk, she supposed, always the _chance_ of serious injury or even death, but it just never came to pass. She was so good, and Ron so lucky, and Wade so smart, and the villains always so incompetent, and, and, and….

She lay back and stretched out on the bed, staring up at the abstract patterns in the ceiling.

"Kim."

Ron, wearing a fluffy white hotel bathrobe and with his hair wet from the shower, looked down at her. He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss, then stood back up and crossed his arms.

"Kim…what are you doing on the bed in your grossness? We've gotta sleep in there tonight!"

"Since when are _you_ hygiene boy?" Kim tried to sound a little irked, but couldn't really work up the energy. Ron smiled down at her.

"Since my wife laid…lay? Lied? Uh, _reclined_ on _my_ side of the bed in her bug-spattered glory. Now are you gonna move or am I gonna have to move you?"

"Big words, Mr. Clean. Big words," Kim said, and did not budge.

He frowned at her for a moment, then sat down next to her.

"KP, not that under ordinary circumstances I wouldn't try to wrestle you into submission," he said, blushing a little. "But it's been a pretty weird 24 hours and…, well, you _are_ actually covered in spider yuck."

"Yeah, yeah." Kim sat up, stretched, and made her way into the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower." She craned her neck back out the door so she could see Ron. "Wait up for me, okay? Don't fall asleep."

"You bet," Ron replied. He gave her the warmest smile he could, hoping to wipe away the nervous look on her face. "I promise."

She smiled back. "Okay. Be out in a jiffy."

Now Ron lay back on the bed, admired the ceiling, and took a minute to rest his bone-tired body. Even with the hoverjets it had taken a couple of hours to get there. He hadn't really been keeping track, but figured it had to be two or three in the morning. He glanced over at the bedside clock. 3:19 blinked back at him. _Long day, _he thought. Rufus was already fast asleep, nested in some of Ron's clothes in one of the dresser drawers.

_Uh-oh¸ _he thought, as he felt himself settling into the bed, relaxing into the soft embrace of his exhaustion. _Gotta stay up! _With a supreme act of will he stood and wandered over to the balcony door. He pulled aside the curtain and stepped out.

_Wow. What a view! _They'd been to Hong Kong on missions several times during high school and college but they'd never stuck around to take it in. Now he just stared down at the city, smelling the sea air,and marveling at the bustle in the streets far below at this hour of the night.

For a while he just stood at the balcony railing, not thinking about anything, just feeling the breeze and watching the lights move around and wink on and off.

Ron shook himself out of his reverie. _Man, I was marinating on my feet. How long have I been out here?_ A quick look at the clock showed that a half hour had passed while he was gazing into the distance. He could hear the water of the shower still running, which was kind of unusual for Kim, who was typically in and out. He rapped on the bathroom door, but there was no response. Slowly he eased it open and looked inside.

"Kim?"

Through the billowing steam, he could see her silhouette in the shower. Despite his exhaustion he couldn't help but admire her figure. He stepped a bit closer.

"Kim?"

She was standing against one side of the shower, facing the wall, forehead resting against her crossed arms, the water beating down on her.

_She must've zoned out too._

"Kim?" Ron asked a third time, wanting to nudge her into action without startling her. This time she seemed to have heard him. She lifted up her head and looked over, blinked a couple of times, then looked around and down at herself.

"How long have I been in here?" she asked through the door as she turned off the water.

"I dunno. Half-hour?" Ron answered, and handed her a towel. She wrapped it around herself and stepped out onto the bathmat, grabbing another towel for her hair.

"Um, privacy?" Kim said, giving him a little half-smile which Ron was very glad to see.

"Yeah, sure. But check that out!" He pointed to the bathroom mirror, in the exact center of which was a completely fog-free square about four feet on each side. "They must heat it to keep the steam off." He reached out with a fingertip and felt the warm glass, before heading out into the room. "Hong Kong rocks."

Kim emerged from the bathroom after a couple of minutes to find Ron sitting up in the bed flipping through channels on the TV.

"Finally. Can we go to sleep now? I'm wiped out." He clicked off the TV.

"Soon," Kim said. She crawled into the bed next to him and looked at him expectantly. With the ease of long practice he hooked out an arm and slouched down a bit while Kim leaned into his side and rested her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her and her hand came to rest on his stomach.

She yawned deeply, and looked up at him. "Were you scared today?"

He looked down at her, a little surprised by the question.

"Kim. I'm _always_ scared. And, you know, they were horrible giant spiders." He shuddered at the memory. "Were you scared?"

She didn't look up at him. Instead, she just stared at the wall.

"No, not really… Not until, well, Yapsby…. It didn't feel like being scared, but it was just so shocking. I couldn't get it out of my head."

She closed her eyes, then opened them again.

"When I shut my eyes I see him – and that thing – and… it's… you know. You were there. Pretty awful." She closed her eyes again, and buried her head into his side. "That's why I stayed in the shower so long. I could feel the water, and listen to it, and kind of breathe the steam, and just think about being there in the shower, and not think about…"

"Shhhhh…," Ron said, reaching to stroke her hair. "It's alright." He looked down at her tenderly. "You know, we're probably not gonna sleep very well tonight. But that's okay, okay? If you wake up in the night, just give me a squeeze. And I promise I'll do the same."

Kim gave him a half-smile, her eyes tightly closed, and snuggled into him.

"Okay," she said, as he reached out to turn off the light.

II.

He woke with a start. He had been shaken out of sleep by a nightmare. He couldn't remember the dream itself, but his heart was pounding. The collar of his t-shirt was soaking wet and the sheets were all twisted around.

Kim was not in the bed.

He looked around in the darkened room and could see a gap in the curtains at the balcony door. He got out of bed and padded over, making as much noise as he reasonably could so she would hear him coming and not be startled.

"Hey, Kimila, I'm coming out… Better put out that cigarette!"

Kim glanced over at him from her perch on the balcony chair. She was sitting with her knees up to her chest and looking out at the harbor.

"Very funny, Ron. Maybe I _should_ take up smoking… Would I look cooler?"

"Well, until your teeth turned yellow and your skin got all creagly."

"Creagly?"

"Yeah, not a word – but try and tell me it doesn't work!"

Kim rolled it around in her head for a minute, then nodded in defeat.

"Yeah, okay, score one for you. No smoking, lest my skin get _creagly_."

Ron sat down in the other balcony chair, stretching out his legs and putting his hands behind his head.

"Pretty neat view, huh?"

"_Totally_ amazing, Ron."

"So… I thought you were supposed to give me a squeeze? Not sneak out of bed and hide on the balcony?"

"I know. But you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to bother you. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I figured…"

"I know what you figured, KP. But it's not like I could sleep tonight without you next to me, anyway. I bet you were probably out of the bed about 12 seconds before I had a nightmare of my own."

She looked up at him sharply.

"What was your nightmare about?"

"Hell if I know, Kim. But if I had to guess, it'd probably have been about waking up in a bed all by myself, worrying about my wife."

He could hear her smiling in the dark.

"That's sweet, Ron."

"And you? What was your nightmare about?"

"What do you think? Giant monsters disemboweling people." She ran her hands through her hair a couple of times. "Hardly a surprise." She gave a big stretch and a yawn.

"So you came out here to stare at the lights?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. And to think," she replied.

"About what?"

Kim didn't reply, and they sat there in silence for a while, as the faint glow of the pre-dawn started to creep up from the horizon.

The long pause made Ron uncomfortable and he shifted in his chair. "C'mon, we should at least try to get a little more sleep, otherwise we're gonna be totally loopy all day."

"Tell me again how you felt after…defeating Warhawk and Warmonga," Kim said, suddenly.

Ron shifted slightly in his chair.

"Please," she said.

"You mean, after I _killed_ them." He looked over at her.

Kim simply looked back.

"Do we have to talk about this again?" he asked.

"What do you mean, again? It's not like this is our nightly dinner conversation. We've talked about it, what, three times?"

"Yeah, but, you know, it's not like it changes. It's the same." He shrugged. "It's always been the same."

"Ron. Listen to me. I'm kinda struggling here. And I could really use your help," she said. She looked at him, half pleading, half defiant.

Ron considered carefully before responding.

"Kim – it wasn't your fault. You didn't kill Yapsby. He didn't die because of something you did or didn't do. You heard what Barkin said. Lo, though it pains me to admit it, he and I have finally found something on which we can agree."

Kim shook her head.

"I know that. Of course I know that… I _don't_ feel guilty. Okay, maybe a little, but – and maybe this is weird – not much more than any other time when a sitch didn't work out and I asked myself if I could've done something differently. I wish I'd saved Yapsby. Of course I wish I'd done that. I was pretty freaked by his spiders, but I didn't want him to die."

She shrugged.

"It was awful. But I…I don't blame myself." She paused for a moment. "It's just got me down so much, and I don't know why it's having this effect on me. Maybe it's just that it was so horrible to see." She paused. "How can you sleep after seeing something like that?"

"You know the answer to that question, Kim." Ron's face was impassive. "But that's why you're bringing up Warhawk and Warmonga."

Once again, she just looked at him, waiting.

"Like I told you the last time we talked about this," he said flatly. "I didn't feel _anything_, Kim."

He spread his hands.

"They took over the world. Destroyed Bueno Nacho – again – and _hurt you._" He gazed out into the harbor, watching the first rays of sunlight sparkle off the water of the bay and the glass of the skyscrapers."They would have killed you."

He looked back at her.

"When Sensei told me I had control over my monkey powers, I just did what had to be done. I didn't _mean_ to kill them." He stopped and rethought his last sentence. "Or maybe I did. At some level. Not consciously. But, they were dangerous. And deadly. And when I threw them into their own ship – I guess I must have meant to." His face grew distant. "It's not as if something like that happens by accident… What're the odds I pick them up and randomly throw them into the air _straight into their own ship _and vaporize them? Pretty unlikely…

"So anyway, it's not that I _wanted _to kill them. It's just that I didn't care. They weren't people to mourn, Kim – they were monsters."

He thought for a moment.

"And maybe…maybe I'm a monster too, for not caring." He turned and looked at her fiercely. "But I would do it again in a heartbeat to protect you."

He paused, and his expression softened slightly.

"Also, I didn't actually _see_ them die. I threw them into the air but…I wasn't watching. And what would there have been to see anyway? They crash into the ship and then – boom. It's not like there was anything left." He scowled. "So I think – no matter what went through _my_ head about Warhawk and Warmonga – you have a right to feel crummy about Yapsby; about seeing him die in such a horrible way."

"So how come you seem so okay?" Kim asked. "That's why I wanted to talk about… I thought maybe…, maybe you have some coping mechanism that I don't…"

"I do, Kim."

She looked at him, surprised. "Huh?"

"You."

"What?"

"I worry about you. I try to be there for you. I'm the goofy sidekick, you know –"

"You're not goofy."

"Don't interrupt! And, yeah, sure I am," Ron protested.

"No, Ron," Kim reached over and took his hand in hers. "You're not. Don't try to deny it. I'm not telling you this in some kind of 'Oh, Ron, don't sell yourself short' good-spouse way. You know it's true, and you can't fool me any more. Sure, somehow a little bit you _are_ goofy – you look at things so differently from everyone else I've ever met. 'Never be normal,' right? And it's really sweet and wonderful of you to keep up the act, or at least put it on from time to time for me. But I know. I know that under that goof – there's something very serious. Very, very serious. And…sometimes a little bit scary."

Ron's face showed surprise.

"Oh, not scary to me. I never worry about myself with you." She smiled, thinking of his mystical monkey power. "Very much the opposite – I know nothing bad could ever happen to me with you around. But still, what you're capable of – what you've done - I've trained my whole life to do what I do when we face villains or landslides or whatever. I have mad skills, but it's all very conscious. But you – you're a mystery to me. Think about it. You made hundreds of millions of dollars from inventing a fast food! Out of nowhere you rapped on national TV, plugged a pandimensional wormhole _with monkeys,_ tamed giant mutant dachshunds with a totally whack squirrel call, inspired a clothing line –"

"So did you," Ron interrupted.

"Now who's interrupting?!" Kim furrowed her brow, trying to recover her train of thought. "Defeated a slime-spewing mutant, _twice_, and busted Drakken's whole atmosfreezer plot by yourself. And then when we were in university you got the Lamplighter to set his clothes on fire, and made Jack the Knife cut his own parachute strings, and tricked that guy – you remember, the one who was going to "stamp out" email? – what was his name?"

"The Alpha Mailman? Kim, that guy was a total loser…"

"Look, you get the point. Need I go on?"

Ron shook his head mutely.

"Don't try to sell me the whole goofy sidekick thing. Yes, you're that, but you're also a lot of other things too. I don't know quite _what_ you are, Ron."

Ron sat silently for a moment.

"Okay, point taken. I don't know quite what I am, either. And maybe someday we'll find out. 'Ron Stoppable: Man or Myth?'" he said, in a deep, movie-voiceover baritone.

"But that wasn't _my_ point," he went on. "_My_ point, if I may review, Miss Know-it-All," and he smiled at Kim so she could see clearly that he was just teasing, "is that, when the going gets tough, I don't think about how tough it is. I think about you. 'Is Kim okay?' 'Is Kim gonna save me?' 'What's Kim's mom making for dinner tonight?' Sure, I spend a lot of mission time being terrified – but it always seems to work out, one way or another, and so why should I bother worrying about me?"

"But _I_ worry about you, Ron. Especially after yesterday. Except for Warhawk and Warmonga, that's the first time anybody's actually _died _in a sitch we were part of. I guess I never thought it could happen. There have been so many times when someone _could_ have died – but nobody ever did. Until now."

Her face grew troubled.

"So – whatever kept this from happening before – magical force, or perfect luck, or incredible talent, or –"

"Moonbeams," Ron interrupted.

Kim wanted to smile, but couldn't shake the gloom she felt.

"Yes, or moonbeams, or whatever, well, it's not there any more. Or it never was. And now – Yapsby's dead. _It changes everything, _Ron_._ Everything! How do I know the next person to die isn't going to be me?"

She looked at him, her eyes watering.

"Or you…"

She put her head down on her knees and began to weep.

Ron knelt on the balcony by her chair, put his arms around her, and stroked her hair while she sobbed against his shoulder. After a while her shaking subsided. She looked up at him, bleary-eyed, her cheeks stained with tears.

"I'm so tired, Ron," she whispered.

He carried her back to the bed, slid in next to her, and held her to him. She fell asleep almost immediately.

Ron watched her sleep as the sun rose over the harbor.


	11. Plenary Session I

Sorry it's been so long, faithful readers (as if I have any left…), but the times, they have been a-changing. Thanks very much to AngusH, BlueEyedBrigadier, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, Drakonis Aurous, Katsumara, King in Yellow, Kwebs, Michael Howard, MrDrP, MrWizard, RobinofYJ, Samurai Crunchbird, screaming phoenix, Sir Sebastian, and Shrike176 for the reviews.

And of course, a booyah to my beta, Ultimate Naco Topping, whose _Snow Driftin' _is an instant classic of laugh-out-loud win.

Kim Possible and ancillary characters ©Disney.

* * *

_I'm so tired, Ron, she whispered._

_He carried her back to the bed, slid in next to her, and held her to him. She fell asleep almost immediately._

_Ron watched her sleep as dawn broke over the harbor._

I.

"Wha? Hunh?" Ron groaned as the phone woke him. He rolled over and picked up the handset.

"Ronald. Dr. Director here. Are you awake?"

"Am now," he grumbled.

"It's 10:00, Ronald. When can we expect you and Kim?"

"Uh," and he turned to peek at Kim, who was stretching out and starting to open her eyes. "Eleven. We need to get cleaned up and grab some breakfast. Then we'll be right over…. Wait a second. Where's over?"

"Take the service elevator to level B3. We will see you at 11:00."

"Wait! What? B3? Then what?" Ron realized he was speaking to a dial tone. "What is with all the curtness?"

Kim was lying on her side, looking at him. "Betty?"

"No, Ron, but I get that a lot. Ha!"

Kim shook her head slowly and disdainfully.

"Heh," said Ron sheepishly. "Okay, we've got an hour, then we're supposed to take the elevator to B3. At which point, we'll probably be whisked down a tube, or shot through the air by a spring-loaded platform, or dematerialized and beamed–"

"Yes, I get it Ron. But we don't need an hour – I just want to get this debrief over. Let's skip breakfast and–"

A horrified gasp from Ron cut her off.

"Kim! Are you even _listening_ to yourself?" Ron turned away from her. "Rufus! C'mon, buddy, we gotta go grub," and, casting a wary glance at Kim, continued with, "and KP's delirious from hunger. Rise and shine!"

Rufus popped his head out of the dresser and nickered hungrily.

"C'mon, KP, if we scramble we can get to the hotel breakfast before they close."

Ron dashed into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Kim stretched out in the bed for a moment. Her face grew serious as she thought back to their conversation a few hours earlier, but then her concentration was broken as Ron called out to her.

"Kim! Chop chop! There's a chafing dish of scrambled eggs with our names on it!"

He stuck his head out of the bathroom. "I'm speaking metaphorically, you realize?"

"Okay, okay," she nodded, hauling herself out of bed, and following him into the bathroom.

II.

Fifteen minutes later they were in the lobby restaurant of the hotel, a generous stack of pancakes dominating Ron's spot, and a bowl of granola, yogurt, and fresh fruit gracing Kim's place. The gentle murmur of the hotel's five-star clientele blended harmoniously with the street sounds of Hong Kong.

Kim, still feeling pretty wiped out from the previous day's events and their abbreviated night's sleep, pushed the yogurt around idly. Under normal circumstances, she would be thrilled to have a couple of all-expenses-paid days at a top hotel, but her heart wasn't in it at the moment.

She looked up from her bowl at Ron, and her brow furrowed in concern.

"Ron? You okay?"

His eyes were closed and head thrown back. But his expression was one of bliss, not pain.

"Kim…" he whispered. "The coffee…the coffee…"

"Is something wrong? Is it poisoned?" _With ecstacy?_ She stared down at her own cup, a confused look on her face.

"Nooooo… it's so… good…." Ron's head came forward and his eyes opened and slowly refocused on her. "For the first time, I understand why people drink the stuff. I didn't realize… so it doesn't _have _to be bitter and metallic?"

Skeptically, Kim picked up her own cup and had a sip.

"Yeah, it's pretty good." She took another sip, and this time her own eyes closed involuntarily. "Okay, I guess I see your point."

Ron briefly admired the artistic dusting of powdered sugar over the top of his blueberry pancakes, then drenched them in syrup and tucked in.

"Ron-" Kim began.

"Can't talk. Eating," mumbled Ron as he stuffed another forkful in his mouth.

"Okay, but those of us _not_ raised by wolves can speak while you eat, right?"

Ron gave her a mock grumpy look but nodded his assent.

"I was just gonna say that I'm going to give Betty the microfiche. Like you suggested. She'll know what to do with it, and I think we should trust her."

Ron nodded agreement, never pausing in his remorseless conversion of pancake into food energy.

Kim paused, continuing to absentmindedly toy with her yogurt, while Rufus stealthily snuck onto the table to grab tiny muffins and croissants from the bread basket.

"We've had three run-ins with villains in the last few months. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. Something is going on, and while GJ has its faults, I don't think we should go into this alone."

"Okmph," mumbled Ron. He drank deeply from his glass of orange juice. "You know I agree with you. Betty's good people, and the sooner we get that microfiche to somebody who can do something with it, the better." He paused for a moment, thinking. "You realize, of course, they might toss us off the case? You're a federal government employee, and Dr. Director is… well, I don't really know who GJ reports to, but she might not have a choice, especially seeing as how she seems pretty chummy with the Ambo."

"I have thought about that, actually," responded Kim from around a mouthful of fruit.

"And you're cool with letting this thing go?"

"Well…," Kim trailed off. Her eyes darted away from Ron as her hands fiddled with the heavy cloth napkin in her lap.

Ron looked at her sharply.

"Do you have something you want to tell me, Kimberly Anne Possible?"

Kim nervously smiled at Ron's tone. "Before we left for the delta I had Wade scan the 'fiche and asked him to have a look at it."

Ron shook his head, smirking.

"What? I'm _agreeing_ that we give the info to GJ and let them take the investigation over. But don't you want to know what Drakken's up to?"

"I'm not shaking my head 'cuz I disagree, KP – you know me: if Drakken's plotting something, I wanna be the guy that hits the self-destruct button." He took a sip of coffee. "It's just that I _knew _you couldn't really take yourself out of this little sitch."

With that he waved at the waiter and, pointing to his now empty mug, mouthed "coffee" with great dramatic flair.

Kim sighed.

"I suppose not. Whatever is going on just seems to be all about us. Even so, if it were any other villain, I might be able to step back. But Drakken and Shego? I can't _not_ see it through. I'm not saying we're going to get more involved, or do anything further, but I've got to know what's going on. And I'm not sure I'm prepared to rely on GJ to keep us fully informed."

Ron regarded her solemnly as he finished off his pancakes with a last crumb of bacon, breaking off only to nod approvingly at the waiter topped off his mug. He turned back to Kim.

"I'm confused. Are we in or out?"

Kim shifted in her chair.

"I… I guess we're trying to get out, but we're staying prepared in case we have to jump back in. I want to get back to work, and stick with the 'no more freak fighting' plan, but I also want to make sure that someone gets to the bottom of Drakken and Shego's little plot." She thought for a second. "And, you know, Ron, while I don't see an alternative to GJ, it's not like they always do a crack job."

Ron nodded again, slowly. "Ok, I guess that makes sense, if that's what you want. Just don't tell Betty we're on the fence."

Kim nodded back. "She knows us pretty well. I'm betting she won't ask."

Ron smiled.

"Yeah." He glanced down at his watch. "Holy smokes! It's almost 11."

He looked wistfully at his empty plate, and his full cup of coffee. Rufus, who had been discreetly snacking in his lap, looked up sadly. The whole scene was so amusing that Kim nearly burst out laughing, despite the uncertain mood which the previous evening had brought upon her. Then, her preternatural instincts detecting imminent movement, she reached across the table and grabbed Ron's hand before it could seize the coffee cup again.

"You can't chug a mug of hot coffee, Ron – you'll scald your mouth!"

He looked crestfallen.

"C'mon, Ron. It's Hong Kong. I'm sure there's plenty of good eating out there. The sooner we do this debrief, the sooner we can get lunch. And you'll want your taste buds intact for that."

Thus mollified, Ron signed for the breakfast and they headed for the elevator lobby. They ducked into the service elevator. Kim pressed B3 and turned to find Ron wedged into a corner, bracing himself with his hands and feet.

"What's up with you?" she asked.

"Just getting ready for whatever wild ride GJ's got planned for us."

"Ron, we're in the Councilor Asian hotel. You think GJ's got this place wired?"

"Are you so sure they don't?"

Kim snorted dismissively, but almost involuntarily found herself backing up until she could feel the solid steel of the elevator behind her.

It felt like an eternity as the elevator crept down the three floors. When the doors slid open, Ron looked around warily, his face wearing a large scowl. They were in the underground parking garage, and a large limo, engine running, stood in front of them. They took note of its GJ-themed purple and black color scheme, and climbed in.

Ron stretched out and put his hands behind his head. "Stylin'! I guess I was wrong about -"

His sentence terminated abruptly as the car's floor slid open, the seat tilted forward, and the three of them were dumped unceremoniously into an access tube in the floor of the garage.


	12. Plenary Session II

Thanks to BlueEyedBrigadier, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, JCS1966, Katsumara, King in Yellow, Michael Howard, MrDrP, MrWizard, noncynic, Rufus3000, screaming phoenix, Sir Sebastian, and Shrike176 for keeping on keeping on with the reading and reviewing. The continued feedback and enthusiasm are really appreciated.

And my gratitude, of course, to Ultimate Naco Topping, who, for reasons that escape me, remains willing to help out despite my periodic disappearing act.

Kim Possible and ancillary characters ©Disney.

* * *

_Ron stretched out and put his hands behind his head. "Stylin'! I guess I was wrong about -" _

_His sentence terminated abruptly as the car's floor slid open, the seat tilted forward, and the three of them were dumped unceremoniously into an access tube in the floor of the garage. _

* * *

Chapter XII

Plenary Session Part II

Shortly thereafter they found themselves tumbling out of the chute at Dr. Director's feet.

"You're late," she said clinically.

Grumbling, they stood up and dusted themselves off, then followed her through various hallways, past laboratories, weapons lockers, control rooms with enormous viewscreens, and hordes of jump-suited agents rushing about. Shortly, they reached a door, against which Betty held her palm for a moment while looking into a glass faceplate. A mechanical voice spoke.

"Retina and DNA confirmed, Dr. Director. Shall I vaporize your companions?"

Ron looked around in a panic while Kim, shocked, crouched in preparation for evasive maneuvers.

"Stand down," Betty said, and the door slid open. She turned and shrugged apologetically as Kim and Ron unwound from their respective positions of fight and flight. "It's not the most hospitable system, to be sure, but we have found it effective."

Kim followed her through the door and looked around the office which lay behind it. _So this is the inner sanctum. _She had worked with Dr. Director many times over the years, but she still knew little about her – and, she realized quickly, wasn't about to learn any more from the furnishings of the office. There was some anodyne grey and white modular furniture, a disturbingly tidy desktop, and several fixtures which might have been high-tech ashtrays. The only elements of individuality were some odd items on the desk: a set of four stress balls - each shaped like a human head - and a collection of small, dull metal sculptures of buildings. _Is that the Pentagon? And Three Mile Island? And the Oklahoma City Federal Building?!_

Betty noticed her looking.

"I found them online. Half conceptual art and half macabre gag gift. It's in pretty poor taste, if you ask me, but I keep them there to remind me what happens if GJ screws up. If _I_ screw up."

She motioned to a small conference table in one corner of the room, and they all sat down.

Betty looked at them expectantly.

"Well?"

Kim looked back, while Ron displayed a vast range of tics and affectations he had picked up over the years: whistling, tapping his foot, looking around the room, and generally failing miserably to appear casual and not all that interested in what was transpiring.

"Well," began Kim. "There really isn't much to say."

"Oh?" Betty raised an eyebrow at her.

"First, Monkey Fist came out of nowhere in Angkor Wat and accused us of trying to smuggle something called the 'Onyx Hanuman' –"

"Handyman," interrupted Ron. "Handyman." Rufus' head popped out of his pocket and he nodded vigorously.

"Onyx _Hanuman_," insisted Kim, glaring at Ron. "We had no idea what he was talking about, but he pushed us into a fight, and we beat him, but didn't capture him. Then, when we got back to Saigon, it turned out that Shego had raided the consulate while we were gone."

"How did you know it was Shego?" asked Dr. Director.

"Well, who else uses plasma blasts to break into buildings? It had to be Shego. So, we, I mean, I, started to, I guess, look around a little."

"Look around?" Again, Dr. Director raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yes, well, I started staying late and snooping around after work. And sure enough, Shego turned up one evening, and stole a piece of microfiche."

"Yes," Betty said. "We examined the file cabinet that she had blasted open. There were actually _three_ sheets of microfiche missing, according to the Consulate's database."

Kim paused. Ron's foot-tapping grew even more agitated.

"Yes. You see, Dr. Director, we, or actually, I, took the two pieces of microfiche on either side of the one Shego stole."

Ron sat up and cleared his throat. "What Kim means to say, Dr. D, is that _I_ took the microfiche."

"You, Ronald? Did you accidentally lean into the cabinet and come away with the microfiche stuck to some naco cheese on your arm?"

Ron scowled.

"Don't tease me, Doc. You know there's no Bueno Nacho in Vietnam! And no, it wasn't the Ron Factor. I took the fiche so we could figure out what was going on. I knew that Kim would keep looking until she was satisfied, and that would probably mean getting thrown out of the State Department, and…that's not going to happen if I have anything to say about it."

He looked at Dr. Director defiantly and held out his wrists with a melodramatic air. "So go ahead – put on the cuffs. You can just lock me up right now. That's right, I can do the time."

Kim put her hand on her forehead and tried not to look at Betty, who simply eyed Ron's extended hands for a moment, then lifted her gaze up to his face and watched him impassively. After a short interval he cleared his throat sheepishly and set his arms down on his lap.

Betty decided to break the silence. "Well, that is certainly very chivalrous of you, Ronald. And did you figure out what is going on?"

Ron slumped a bit. "No. We've got nothing."

He looked at Kim for affirmation, and she nodded.

"Betty," Kim began, forming the sentence slowly and with some hesitation, "this whole sitch… it's just… crazy. Monkey Fist, and Shego, and now Chester Yapsby. I mean, _Yapsby?"_ She paused to collect her thoughts briefly. "Monkey Fist was out of the picture for years."

"Stone cold," interjected Ron.

Kim shot him a look, then went on.

"Drakken and Shego – they were heroes! Drakken had the fame and recognition he had always sought. Why would he go bad again? And, Yapsby? Popping up in Vietnam. After all this time?"

"Villainy is villainy, Kim," Director responded. "And megalomania is megalomania. One way or another they were bound to turn up again. I guess you can't keep a bad man down."

"Yeah, but am I bound to keep fighting them?" Kim responded sharply. "Battling supervillains was a _hobby_; just something I did in high school, and then a little bit in college. But I never really thought it would be my _life_. When I graduated and joined the State Department, it's because I made a decision: that I was ready to move on – to get a real job, make a life with Ron" – she glanced over at him and smiled, and he smiled back and patted her hand – "you know, be a grown-up." She thought for a second. "Sometimes, I feel a little nostalgia for the hero biz; but then, when I think about it, I feel pretty right about the choices I've made. And I _don't_ feel right about riding the same old merry-go-round with these guys until the day I…."

She paused, and realized that she had been staring down at the table, absent-mindedly examining her own hands, which were moving and turning and clenching, silent avatars of the emotions she was trying to control as she spoke.

She looked up at Dr. Director. "So that's why I want you to have these." She reached into her purse and brought out the two sheets of microfiche and put them on the table in front of the GJ chief.

They all fell silent. Betty picked up the microfiche and examined them briefly, then set them down on the table. Suddenly she stood up, walked to the desk, and grabbed one of the stress balls. Squeezing it vigorously, she sat back down and regarded the young couple for several moments.

During the break in conversation, Kim's mind wandered, a result of her mental and physical exhaustion and her brief recapitulation of what had brought them to this point. It wasn't as if she had expected a clean break with her past as a teen hero, but in retrospect, it seemed just absurd that the last few months had been one encounter after another, with barely any time in between to do her job, or enjoy her life – precisely the priorities she had chosen over freak-fighting. And this last encounter… Yapsby…. Suddenly a string of images flashed through her mind: battling Shego again and again, in a hundred different settings; Dementor's crazed laugh and villain flashlight; Barkin booming at them in the hallways of Middleton High, and in the CG's residence; and Ron… being thrown into walls, smashing into cliffs, nearly being devoured by sharks. And, over and over, Yapsby, the spider's mandibles tearing into his chest, the lifeless body lying there in the road….

She shivered, then dragged herself back to the present and looked up at Betty.

Dr. Director motioned to the microfiche. "And by giving me these, are you saying you're not going to involve yourself in this case any more?"

Kim and Ron exchanged a look, which Betty couldn't have missed if she'd had patches over both eyes.

"As you point out, you and Ronald are adults now, entirely capable of making your own decisions, though I feel compelled to advise you that any further involvement on your part is likely to have serious implications for your State Department career."

"But Betty," Kim interrupted, "we didn't go looking for this. We were just working in Vietnam, and half of the world's 'most wanted' list followed us there, for some reason. I don't know why they were there, and it seems clear that you don't, either, but I'm not quite sure that I can just roll myself up in a ball and hope that Shego doesn't come back, or that some other wacko doesn't come after us."

Dr. Director regarded Kim and Ron piercingly. "Yes, but now Global Justice is involved."

Kim stared at her without emotion, and Ron raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You have the right to be skeptical," Director continued, noting their expressions. "It's no secret that GJ didn't necessarily acquit itself very well in some of our shared experiences when you two were back in high school. However, the GJ that you knew then is not the GJ that operates today. We've made a lot of changes in the last few years: in recruitment, in training, in operations. I try to remain humble about it, but I think you'll find we're actually pretty effective." She pointed at the microfiche. "With these in our possession, I'm quite confident we'll get to the bottom of things. Meanwhile, your continued involvement is likely only to jeopardize your own security, and that of those around you at the Consulate. So I would urge you to _leave the investigation to us._"

She leaned in and looked at Kim intently.

"If you change your mind – if you decide that taking on supervillains _is¸ _in fact, your calling, and not your hobby - you know that GJ will take you in a minute." She frowned. "As would a dozen other intelligence agencies and special forces teams. But you're a civilian now, and no disrespect intended to State, they're not exactly in the freak-fighting business and I can't blame them if they're not prepared to have one of their junior diplomats free-lancing."

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, exuding a disturbingly motherly air. "If you truly want out, as it sounds like you do – well, my advice is, start _right now._ Enjoy your time in Hong Kong, then go back to Saigon, set all this aside, and do your job. Feel free to check in with us; Wade knows how to reach me, just as he always has."

"Making the break – truly moving on – will be hard. You'll always miss it, just a little bit. Someone who has ridden that adrenaline express as long as you can expect to feel its absence. But maybe the day will come when you can live in the normal world without fear of death beams and mutated insects. When you won't have to worry about who's hiding in the shadows, waiting for you."

She sighed and looked down at the tabletop for a second. Kim was taken aback at the look of tremendous weariness that passed across the GJ chief's face in that instant. Then Betty looked back up at them and the moment passed.

"Anything else?"

Kim and Ron looked at each other, then back at Betty. "No," said Kim emphatically.

"Good. Because I, in fact, have one more item."

Kim and Ron exchanged looks.

"It's not really an official matter, and won't be part of any record, but it is something of great interest to me."

Team Possible's confusion was evident.

"I know this is painful, but I feel we must discuss the tragic, and rather surprising, death of Chester Yapsby," Director said.

Kim's brow furrowed, and Ron squinted at Betty, as if trying to see into her.

"After a decade of battling villains everywhere from outer space to the deepest ocean, and facing down plasma cannons, laser arrays, deadly toxins, and death by ganache, suddenly, for the first time, someone dies."

Kim shifted uneasily.

"Yes, Kim, good point. Not, in fact, the first time. Though I believe most of the Earth's inhabitants are willing to make an exception for the other occasion. As am I, frankly. No, it's _Yapsby's_ death that I want to talk about. Don't you find it peculiar that, after all these years, suddenly, in the normal course of battle, there is a fatality?"

Ron decided he had heard enough. "Doctor Director! If you intend to hold Kim responsible for Yapsby's death, that's just, just, nuts. The guy was breeding giant mutant spiders, for heaven's sake! And you think Kim should have –"

"Why Ronald," interrupted Betty, her eyes trained steadily on him, "whatever made you think I was talking about _Kim_?"

Ron stopped short and gaped at her. He blinked once, then again. Kim's head swiveled from Betty to Ron and back to Betty, realization suddenly dawning.

"We three know full well, Ron, what you are capable of," Director went on. "Both in terms of the damage you can do to threats, like the Lorwardians, and the protection you can afford to the threatened." She indicated Kim with a slight motion of her chin. "The Ron Factor investigation may have been inconclusive, but – I am convinced – only because your powers did not _want_ to be investigated."

Ron shivered slightly. Kim looked ashen.

"All I know is, you and Kim go into situations that no human beings should survive – and somehow you, and all of those around you, _do_ survive…. Until now, of course."

Betty paused for a moment, and sighed.

"I'm sorry if this is painful, Ronald, but we all know you could have saved Yapsby. Somehow. Perhaps with your monkey power, or just by stumbling in some artful way. And yet you didn't. I, for one, would like to know why."

She resumed squeezing the stress ball vigorously while Ron and Kim looked at each other and then back at her.

"Oh, not now," she continued. "I can't imagine that you yourself have any idea. Why, just looking at you, I can see that the thought that you might be at the heart of whatever went wrong never even occurred to you. Did you harbor a particular dislike for him? Has your luck finally run out? Is your monkey power waning? I can think of dozens of reasons, but they'd all be guesses, and only dance around the simple truth that _I don't understand you,_ Ronald Stoppable. And that makes me very, very uncomfortable."

She looked at the young couple, whose hands had met on the table and were now clasped together tightly. Ron looked deeply shocked, and Kim looked grim and determined.

"That's it, Betty," Kim said, striving to keep her determination from escalating into rage. "We're leaving now. The investigation is yours. But you better make progress. And as long as we're exchanging confidences, I'll just say this: I don't want to have to take things back into my own hands, but I will if we're threatened again. You can count on it."

"_If _we have anything else to say – we'll get in touch."

"Alright then," Director responded cordially, in acknowledgement that she had pushed the conversation as far as she dared. She stood up. "Thank you for the microfiche. I can assure you that your part in its disappearance and subsequent recovery will not make it into any reports. And we'll get right to work on the analysis." She moved towards the door and motioned to Kim and Ron, who stood up and followed. "I'd best see you out myself. The new security systems are, as you saw, rather ornery."

She led them back down the corridor in silence.


	13. Modus Vivendi

"_Alright then," Director responded cordially, in acknowledgement that she had pushed the conversation as far as she dared. She stood up. "Thank you for the microfiche. I can assure you that your part in its disappearance and subsequent recovery will not make it into any reports. And we'll get right to work on the analysis." She moved towards the door and motioned to Kim and Ron, who stood up and followed. "I'd best see you out myself. The new security systems are, as you saw, rather ornery."_

_She led them back down the corridor in silence._

**Chapter XII**

**Modus Vivendi**

I.

The pneumatic tubes delivered them back to the hotel garage. After ascending to the lobby they hesitated, shaken by the conclusion of the conversation with Dr. Director. They stood by the elevator bank for a moment looking around awkwardly, each aware of the other's uncertainty.

Then Kim made a decision. Leaning in, she cupped Ron's chin and gave him a soft kiss. He blinked twice. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him to her. To her great relief he responded by returning the hug and holding her tight, his right hand slowly moving up and down her back. For a moment they just felt each others' warmth.

Kim could feel tears behind her eyelids – prompted by anger at Betty, concern for Ron, and fear for his reaction to the GJ director's provocation. Not wanting him to see her struggling to hold back the tears, she held Ron tighter.

Kim finally broke the clinch after opening her eyes to see a number of the hotel's clients and staff watching this odd couple by the elevator bank. She sniffed and gave her face a quick wipe.

"Listen, Ron," she said, her hands now around his waist as she looked him in the eyes. "I don't know where Betty was getting all that from. If you want to talk about it now, we can. But we don't have to. Maybe we need a break from talking. We've got the rest of the day here in Hong Kong, and I say we make the most of it. We can talk later. What do you think?"

The look of relief on Ron's face was all the answer she needed. "Okay then," she said. "I've gotta go check my face. Meet you back here in five."

Ron, lost in thought, rubbed the back of his neck as he watched her go.

II.

They did their best to enjoy the remaining time in Hong Kong. There was the obligatory trip to The Peak, with Ron barely keeping down his breakfast as the tram pulled them up the slope at a 45 degree angle and Kim teased him about how lucky it was that Mr. Baggy Pants wasn't at the bottom. At the top they admired the view of Kowloon and Victoria Harbor, and reveled in the kitschy atmosphere of the mountaintop dining options, with their over-the-top efforts to telegraph oriental splendor. (Rufus, of course, was disappointed repeatedly at Kim and Ron's inexcusable casualness in batting around the word "cheesy.")

After descending they spent some time strolling through the downtown, window shopping at the jewelry, clothes, and sports cars. Periodically the heat and humidity would prompt them to take a break and they would find a café or coffee shop in which to sit, relax, and watch the improbably stylish residents of the city go about their business.

Despite the leisurely feeling to the day, the two were subdued. They chit-chatted about what they were seeing, or where they might go next, but other natural topics – work, their friends back in Vietnam, plans for the next week or the next vacation – didn't sustain the conversation.

_This tanks, _thought Ron, as he sipped a fruit juice at a café they had chosen. Kim was usually so energetic and forward-looking, always talking about big plans, whatever they might be. But today, every time he tried to lead her into conversation about anything like that, she gently redirected them back to the topic of the moment – some guy's tie, some lady's handbag, where they were, what they would do next. It was pleasant, but it wasn't really _Kim._

Kim could also feel the awkwardness. _Poor Ron,_ she thought, as she pushed back gently against his efforts to engage her. She appreciated what he was trying to do – pretend that everything was normal, that they were just newlyweds on a vacation in Hong Kong, soon to go back to work and the old routine – but everything _wasn't_ normal. A man had just died in front of them, and now Dr. Director had introduced the horrible idea that, in some way, Ron was complicit, or even entirely to blame. Meanwhile her job was at risk, their future plans were in jeopardy, and a world which had been fundamentally predictable, if frequently bizarre, had been irreversibly knocked off its axis. She was trying not to dwell on it, not to brood, but she didn't really want to think about the future. Where once there had been a clear path to success, to family, to happiness, now there seemed to be numerous competing paths, with many dead-ending in darkness rather than opening out into light. So she did not really want to talk about the long-term; she just really wanted the sightseeing to be distraction enough for the both of them.

Realizing how melodramatic her inner monologue was getting, and catching sight of Ron eyeing her, she put on a cheerful face, pulled out the map, and drew him into a discussion of the next destination in their walking tour.

Their day finally ended at the Temple Street night market, where they pushed through the crowds to wander among the stalls and kiosks. They admired the vast range of goods for sale – cheap men's clothes, bootleg CDs and DVDs by the thousands, knockoff Kitty-Kat Hello watches, and a thousand other products – but, knowing they could get similar in Vietnam, negotiated for fun over only a few items.

Meanwhile, Ron took it as a personal challenge to sample as many of the food stalls as he could. Perfectly at home pointing and gesturing, he worked his way through a vast smorgasbord of fish balls, mushroom skewers wrapped in beef, deep fried squid, and endless varieties of dumplings. Kim sampled a bit here and there, but mostly just observed in awe her husband's herculean dining efforts, and drew reassurance from the fact that, if nothing else, he still had a traditional Stoppabilian appetite. The press and murmur of the crowds combined with the muggy air and the smoke from dozens of grills to make the young couple feel like they were being infused with the atmosphere of the city.

Finally, sated with street food, soaked through from the humidity, and yawning so much they could barely see, let alone speak, they retreated to the hotel and their room.

Ron paused to gently place Rufus in his improvised burrow in a drawer, and dumped his pockets on the dresser. Something sticking out of his wallet caught his eye. Stefan Abt's business card. He looked at it for a moment, then tucked it back in and turned to face Kim.

Still in her street clothes, she was stretched out on the bed. He lay down next to her, feeling the chill of the air conditioning as it blew across his damp clothes and hair. The smell of Hong Kong clung to them, a not unpleasant mix of smoke, sweat, and garlic.

Ron turned his head to the right and regarded Kim's profile. _So beautiful,_ he thought, admiring her perfect skin, the slightly upturned nose, the red hair, still stunning despite being rather frizzy from the humidity.

He also noted the dark circles under her eyes and some fine stress lines around the corner of her mouth.

Kim felt his eyes on her and turned to face him. She took in the playful eyebrows, the freckles still faintly visible on his cheeks, the blonde stubble lining his jaw. She also observed a concerned look in his warm brown eyes.

"Well, whaddaya think?" he asked, by way of an opening move. _King's Gambit, _he thought to himself. He wasn't sure he really wanted to talk, anyway – he'd always found it easier to just put the scary stuff aside, if given the choice – but Betty's comments earlier had really shaken him, and he didn't think he could avoid it either. Plus, he wanted to know what Kim thought.

"About what?" she replied.

_King's Gambit declined! Dang!_

"Oh, I don't know…. You know, stuff."

"Stuff?" She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

_Boo-yah. The Dodo Gambit, for disarming your opponent._ "Yeah, you know. It's been quite a couple of days. Yapsby…Barkin… the Ambo…last night…Betty today." _Me. I want to know what you're thinking about me._

Kim turned her head back to the ceiling and sighed, then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"I don't know, Ron," she replied, speaking in the direction of the ceiling. "I guess I've been avoiding talking about it because if we talk about it we might have to decide to _do _something about it, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

She turned her head to look at him again. Noticing his perplexed expression, she reached over with her hand and gently played with his hair a few times, smoothing down his cowlick and stroking the back of his head.

"I feel all mixed up inside. All the plans we made suddenly seem so…fragile." Turning onto her back again, she put both hands behind her head. "Even if you forget about Yapsby…and I doubt we ever will, well, there are so many questions. Let's start with the obvious one. What if I _can't_ stay in the Foreign Service? I mean, an Ambassador nearly got killed because an old foe of ours – a pretty minor one, really, may God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead – decided to come after us. I'm a walking security risk. And even if we say, _ok, no big deal, I'll get another job_, what if I can'thave a normal job? Who's going to hire me if supervillains keep threatening to turn my coworkers into hamburger?"

Ron, just slightly paralyzed by Kim's suddenly opening up in this way, listened and watched. At this point she seemed to be talking to herself more than anything.

"Okay, yeah, GJ would love to have me," she went on. "Fine. Not what I _want_ to do, but at least it's something. I just never really saw myself as going into law enforcement. I mean, do I have to be an Olympic gymnast just because I was a standout cheerleader in high school?

"And that's just the stuff about me! What about you?" She rolled onto her back and began talking to the ceiling again. "Just because Yapsby dies all of a sudden you're some kind of – I don't know what! What does she _think_ you should have done? Is your monkey power supposed to be all-knowing and just independently direct itself to save a guy from his own monster spiders? I mean, the fact that we even have to have this discussion just makes me so _mad_ at Betty. I know that you're a good soul, Ron. A complicated one," and she looked back at him, "with mystical powers of life and death, to be sure – but not someone who stands by and lets people die."

Kim thought further. "Meanwhile, as my career tanks…_you _could have a career. You had a lot of opportunities. But I dragged you off to southeast Asia for this job, and your reward for that is flipping burgers at the Embassy caf and being accused by the head of Global Justice of … manslaughter."

Ron's paralysis ended abruptly when he decided he'd heard enough. "Okay, that's it. To paraphrase a very wise man I know, this pity fiesta is over."

Kim smiled slightly, but Ron was rolling on.

"First of all, sure, we've had a run of bad luck, with villains – including ones we were pretty sure were literally petrified and permanently entombed in mystical monkey temples – cropping up every time we turn around. But our luck's gotta change. We don't _have_ to stay involved in the Drakken thing – GJ can handle it. Or not. Maybe there'll be more baddies, and we'll defeat 'em – like we always do – and maybe, even so, you can stay with State. Or maybe they kick you out. Fine. We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"I'll admit, what Betty said freaked me out. I'm still trying to grasp it. But I've never been totally in control of the monkey powers. Which, by the way, _Betty_, don't let me tell the future, or help me just _guess_ that the guy who's threatening to have his giant spiders _eat me_ is about to get caught…"

He couldn't help himself, but as the words were about to form on his lips, he smiled slightly at the metaphor he had innocently chosen…. _Oh my god, _he thought, _Kim's going to think I'm some kind of monster._ He tried to control the smile but failed.

"Get caught in his own web," finished Kim. She, too, was smiling.

Suddenly the two of them erupted into laughter as the pent-up tension of the day, and their state of utter exhaustion, came together. For a few minutes they were shaking on the bed in hooting paroxysms of guilty, shameful, soul-cleansing laughter.

"Oh my god," Kim gasped when she could breathe again. "We are terrible, terrible people. I'm _so_ on the bus to hell."

"Well then," replied Ron, "I'm driving."

They laughed a little more.

He thought of the business card he'd been looking at earlier.

"Oh, and by the way, I could _still _have a career, thank _you_ very much. Just the other day, at the reception for Mr. B., some hotel guy from Hanoi offered me a job. A good one, too. So, just because I choose -"

"What?" Kim suddenly sat up and stared at Ron. "You got a job offer?"

"Well, you don't have to act so surprised," Ron said, a slightly hurt expression on his face. "You're not the only one with a worldwide reputation, I guess. Besides, you don't have to worry, I wasn't going to take it, I only-"

"You should take it," Kim said, determinedly.

"-wanted you to…what? You…I…enh?" Ron drew back slightly, and sat up. "You want me to take it? What part of 'it's in Hanoi' didn't you get?"

"Ron! This is huge! I mean, it makes perfect sense! Listen, my career – gosh, listen to me, 'my career,' like I have a career – is probably in the toilet, or could wind up there any day. And you've got an opportunity right here in Vietnam to pursue yours? Well, one of us at least ought to have at least some form of employment, don't you think? Fine, you'd be in Hanoi. We've done it before, during college, and it's not like working couples don't commute between Middleton and Go City, or DC and New York. We don't have kids, or even a pet, so it could totally work."

Ron stared at her, agape, trying to wrap his brain around what she was proposing. _Commuting?_

Kim didn't pause. Now she was up on her knees on the bed, looking into the middle distance as she spun out the idea. "It could really work out! I'll do the best I can in Saigon to impress – and I'll be able to work really long hours and be super productive. Meanwhile, you can get back into the chef game in Hanoi! We'll be with each other on the weekends." She turned back to him and smiled broadly. "It's _so_ not the drama."

Ron was astonished by the change in Kim's demeanor. The dour look and anxious tone had vanished entirely, and suddenly she was all energy and enthusiasm.

"Been a long time since I've heard you say that, KP," he said, smiling back. "There's been a lot of drama lately."

"I know, Ron! So maybe this is just what we need to get things moving again. If it doesn't work out – if we don't like it – we can always switch it up, or figure something else out. But why shouldn't we give it a try?"

Ron thought about it, and mentally ran through his misgivings. He did _not_ like the idea of being away from Kim again, after all the years apart when she was in France and he in England. Particularly with Drakken and Shego on the warpath.

Also, he was freaked out by the implications of Betty's take on his monkey power.

He couldn't be _entirely_ sure she was entirely wrong.

Still, he had to admit that he was eager to do something with the culinary skills he had invested in for all those years – and he was simply relieved to see Kim excited and positive about something, after her mood of the last few days. The last thing he wanted to do now was bring her back down.

"Well, okay then, KP." He looked at her very seriously. "If you really thing this is a good idea, then I'm game too. Why don't we sleep on it, and if you're still all for it in the morning – then we'll do it. Take our chances and just see what happens…."

Kim smiled widely and hugged him, then sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the _eau d'Hong Kong _that clung to them. "Eww. We stink."

Ron sniffed the air theatrically. "Actually, KP, I'm fresh as roses. _You _stink."

He never saw the pillow coming.

III.

Ron woke up suddenly, though it was still dark in the room. A quick exploration with a leg and an arm revealed that Kim was, once again, not in the bed. He glanced over at the clock and groaned. Barely 3am.

They had gone to sleep actually in a pretty good mood, after a rip-roaring pillow fight, a good scrub, and some quality time cuddling. It was clear that Kim hadn't felt like anything more serious than that, so they had just spooned a while and drifted off to sleep together. Ron's last thought before sleep took him was him wondering whether they would sleep through the night.

_Apparently not._

He lay in the bed quietly for a moment. Were those voices? Yes, definitely. Kim's, loud and clear coming from the balcony, and another voice, quieter. He got out of bed and walked over to the balcony.

"Monique, c'mon, you're my friend, back me up here."

"Just 'cuz I'm your friend doesn't mean I'm your yes-girl!"

Ron pushed the curtain aside slightly and peeked out. Kim was sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her tiny laptop in front of her, chatting with Monique.

"You really think it's a bad idea?" Kim asked.

Ron slowly let the curtain slide back into place but continued to stand there, listening. _I shouldn't be doing this. This is how husbands get in trouble._

"I don't know, Kim! It just seems like a lot of weird stuff is going on, and this is the moment you choose to split up Team Possible?"

"Split up Team Possible?" Kim made a "pshaw" noise. "What are you talking about? He's just a short plane ride away. It's not like he's moving to, I don't know, Norway or something."

"Yeah," said Monique, "but he might as well be if something nasty goes down. But forget about that - you guys are basically newlyweds but you're going to be apart most of the time! That won't be a lot of fun."

"C'mon, Monique, be reasonable. We're not going to be in Vietnam forever, maybe not very long at this rate, if they kick me out for being a trouble magnet. In the meantime Ron can follow his own dream for a while. What's wrong with that?"

There was a pause. Ron could imagine Monique cocking her eyebrow and giving Kim a skeptical look.

"And what about what Dr. Director said?"

"Well, what about it?" Kim sounded exasperated.

"What do you mean, 'what about it'? Don't mess around here, Kim. What do you _think_?"

There was a long pause.

Ron held his breath.

"I…I don't know, Mon. I mean, I know that Ron would never ever willingly hurt someone, really. That's just not who he is. And still…"

Ron was sure Kim could hear the pounding of his heart during the ensuing silence.

"There so much about his powers I just don't understand. Don't get me wrong, I think Betty's insinuations are a load of BS. But nobody - including Ron - really knows just what's going on under the hood. I haven't figured out what to do about it." She paused. "Sometimes I wonder if maybe Ron needs to go back to Yamanouchi for a while, see what he can discover about himself."

Kim sighed.

"I did what I did during high school and college - the world-saving, I mean - because I had the skills and it seemed like the right thing to do. But it wasn't some kind of heavy mystical _destiny. _Ron…Ron's got ancient idol-given monkey powers, a magic sword, and a little sister who is herself a mystical creature. What if he's the one with the destiny?"

Ron could hear Monique sigh. "Girl, that is definitely some heavy shit you're dealing with right now…. Ok, ok, I still don't think it's the best idea you've ever had, but if any lovebirds could handle a long-distance commute, it's you two. Now, I've gotta get back to work. Hugs to the Monkey Boy, and don't wait so long to call next time, ok?"

Ron quietly crept back to the bed while Kim said goodbye. He pretended to be asleep when she crawled in next to him.

This time he drifted off fairly quickly.

Which didn't make it any less painful to suddenly be woken by the Kimmunicator's familiar four-tone beep.

Ron rolled over and looked at Kim, who groaned as she reached for the nightstand. She activated the Kimmunicator and immediately Wade's holographically generated features appeared in mid-air over the device.

"Gemini is in Hong Kong."


End file.
